


Breathe In  (and Feel No Hurt)

by Constance1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Draco Malfoy, Character Death (not Harry or Draco), Depression, Did I mention short chapters?, Draco's POV, Drama, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Hints of Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Some humour, Talking, hints of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constance1/pseuds/Constance1
Summary: A tale of love, loss, and of finding hope again. Or the story of how Draco turned into a house-cat in order to secretly bother a depressed Harry Potter until he was no longer feeling sorry for himself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Story title and inspiration credited to James Bay and his beautiful song "Us" (acoustic version). Check it out :)

  
  
**TRAGEDY IN DEVON!**  


  _It is with great sadness that The Prophet announces the tragic and senseless deaths of Ron and Hermione Weasley (n **ē** e Granger). Harry Potter’s two closest and dearest friends were killed late Friday night in a targeted attack at a pre-wedding dinner party being held at the Weasley family home in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon. The loss of life also included groom, Neville Longbottom, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and two of their children: Holyhead Harpies Chaser Ginny Weasley, and her older brother George Weasley. The bride, Hannah Abbott, is currently at St. Mungo’s in critical condition. The Prophet has since discovered that Harry Potter himself had attended the dinner but departed early due to work commitments as the Ministry’s Head Auror._

_The attack is now the third and most brutal of the heinous acts of revenge being carried out by the so-called Pureblood Society, a group which has previously sent statements to the Ministry detailing their desire to wipe out those Pureblood families which did not stand behind Voldemort during his reign of terror. The Minister for Magic will be making a public statement about the incident as well as about what the Auror Department will be doing in order to catch those responsible before there is any further loss of life._

_One can only assume that Head Auror, Harry Potter, will be taking a leave of absence to deal with the repercussions of losing his two best friends and the family which has stood by him since he was a young boy. Our thoughts are with Mr. Potter and the other members of the families affected. Hopefully justice will be swift._

_Betty Braithwaite - The Prophet - April 21, 2012_

***             *             *             ***

**THE LAST OF THE PUREBLOOD SOCIETY CAUGHT!**

_Head Auror, Harry Potter, has released a statement confirming that the last of the Pureblood Society members have been apprehended and are now awaiting trial. This makes the fifth and final arrest of the witches and wizards responsible for the targeted attacks which have been plaguing our world for nearly twelve months._

_One can only hope that Harry Potter will now feel some closure after the deaths of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione Weasley (n **ē** e Granger), and that he will take a much deserved break from active duty. As previously reported, Mr. Potter had dedicated all of his free time to the mission in order to catch those responsible, and because of his ardent devotion to the operation, his health and his relationships suffered greatly (see article dated May 12th for full details on Harry Potter’s break-up with his boyfriend of two years last month).   _

****

_Betty Braithwaite - The Prophet - June 6, 2012_

***              *              *              ***

 

 

  

**HARRY POTTER STEPS DOWN AS HEAD AUROR!**

_A shocking Ministry-issued statement has revealed that the Boy-Who-Lived has stepped down from his position as Head Auror. The Ministry has stated that this is only a temporary change and that Mr. Potter will be back at an as yet undetermined date in the future. Yet after interviewing some of Mr. Potter’s co-workers, the word in the Auror Department is that Harry Potter has no intention of **ever** returning. The Chosen One has appeared depressed and unwell ever since the tragic deaths of his friends in May of this year. _

_The staff at The Prophet wish him well and hope that one day he will be able to move on and live a life of peace and happiness, the likes of which our great hero unequivocally deserves._

_Betty Braithwaite - The Prophet - June 10, 2012_


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy tucked his hands into his cloak pockets and kept his head down as he briskly strode up the wet cobblestones of Diagon Alley, a deep scowl on his pale face. He rarely ventured into Diagon anymore but his supplier in France had mistakenly posted his latest order of potion ingredients to the Apothecary at the north end of Diagon Alley instead of to the Westbury location close to his home.

He hated inconveniences and he hated venturing into public places - and unhappily this ticked both boxes; which was why he was frowning in irritation as he pushed through the Apothecary door.

He marched right up to the front counter and snapped at the young shop clerk to fetch him his order straight away.  

Draco glanced around as he stood waiting, a sudden feeling of foreboding crawling up the back of his neck, as though someone was watching him.

It didn’t take him long to spot the group of men standing next to the wooden barrel full of eel skins. All three of them were staring openly at him with unguarded hostility.

Draco did his best to appear unfazed as he coolly narrowed his eyes at them before turning back around to wait.

Inside he was begging the shop clerk to hurry the fuck up and bring him his parcel so that he could get out of there. If he’d had the choice he would have sent someone else to pick up his order. As it was, there was only him, and he would have to grin and bear it just this once. And then thoroughly berate his French supplier and demand a discount on his next purchase.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, the young clerk reappeared from the back room and handed over the medium-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper.   

Draco quickly scrawled his signature on the parchment the clerk slid across the counter to him and then turned and stalked out as fast as he could, attempting to not look as though he were running away.

Which of course he was.

Life directly after the war hadn’t been as awful as he’d expected it to be after the Death Eater trials had concluded; people were wary of him and the Malfoy name but not outright hostile. Yet now, ever since the emergence of that so-called Pureblood Society, Draco had suddenly become a walking target for vigilantes who were convinced that he was connected to it in some way. There were even some ludicrous whispers that he was the original founder of the extremist group.

In truth, Draco wanted no part of that world anymore; most of his childhood had been an absolute nightmare. His father had then perished in Azkaban shortly after the war, and his mother had passed away last year after succumbing to an illness that Draco couldn’t cure with his potions no matter how desperately hard he tried.

Now he only wished for a quiet life with his potion brewing, and maybe, far off in the distant future, when the Malfoy name no longer incited anger and suspicion, he would find a partner to share that life with.

Draco’s every sense was on high alert as he strode through the light rain, head down and package tucked safely under one arm. He didn’t want to risk pausing in order to shrink the box to a more manageable size, he just wished to make his escape from Diagon Alley and return to the safety of Wiltshire.

He could hear heavy footsteps trailing behind him and he clenched his jaw, anger and fear bubbling up within.

He swiftly sought to determine whether he would make it to the nearest Apparation Point or to the Floo in The Leaky first.

The thought of walking into a dark side alley to the Apparation Point quickly decided it for him.

He lengthened his stride and headed for The Leaky Cauldron, the sound of those footsteps fading as he increased his speed. He attempted to calm himself and not panic; he had his wand and they were still in a public place, so these idiots really couldn’t do _too_ much damage.

He withdrew his wand as he approached the brick wall behind the old pub and quickly rapped on the surface. The entryway promptly opened with the shifting of dusty bricks as they magically moved aside and then shut behind him when he hurriedly stepped through.

The cluttered rear courtyard of the pub was empty and Draco jogged the few steps to the door of the Leaky and pulled at the handle.

It wouldn’t budge.

Draco stared down at the brass handle with a frown, a cold feeling of dread instantly settling in the pit of his stomach. He shifted his parcel to the other arm and then pulled on the handle again, throwing all of his weight behind it. It still wouldn’t move.

He heard the brick wall behind him begin to shift and groan and he knew he was out of time.

“ _Alohomora_!” he cast under his breath, somehow knowing before it happened that the door still wouldn’t open. “Fuck.”

Draco turned and bolted to the right side of the building and then ducked down behind the overflowing rubbish bins. He thrust his box of potion ingredients into the dim space between the bins and the concrete foundation of the pub and then clutched his wand to his chest.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before suddenly transforming into a small ginger housecat.

Draco calmly walked back out to sit in front of the bins and began to clean his paw, grey eyes carefully watching the three wizards who walked through the brick wall and stood with puzzled frowns on their faces, looking about the empty courtyard in confusion.

“I thought you said Jack was locking the doors,” one of them hissed angrily.

“He _was_.”

“Where the fuck is he then?”

One of Draco’s pointed ears flicked as he picked up a heated conversation from within the pub.

The back door of the Leaky suddenly swung outwards and a lanky man with thinning hair stumbled out, hands up in submission, as Tom strode out behind him and stood with hands on hips, glaring.

“Get outta here!” Tom ordered sharply. “The lot of you. If you ever come back here and tamper with my door again, I’ll call the Aurors.”

The group of men eyed Tom warily for a second and then slowly turned and re-opened the entryway to Diagon Alley, grumbling all the while, before walking through and disappearing into the crowd.

Draco watched as an older couple emerged from the pub behind Tom and nodded in thanks to the bartender before continuing on through the entryway into Diagon Alley to do their shopping.

It was as Tom turned to go back inside that he spotted the cat sitting next to his bins.

Draco’s eyes widened in alarm as Tom suddenly snatched up an old bristled broom from beside the door and came at him; wielding the broom like a weapon.

“Get out of here you!” he ordered in irritation. “Stop pissing on my bins you manky old cat!”

Draco was rather affronted by that assessment, but he quickly turned and darted towards the tall wooden fence surrounding the courtyard. He scaled the fence in two agile leaps and then neatly jumped over the top, silently landing on all four paws on the other side.

Feeling distinctly nettled, he looked around for a spot to transform in order to return to the Leaky to collect his hidden parcel.

This outing was turning out to be far more bothersome than originally anticipated.

“I said _scat_!”

Draco blinked incredulously as that meddlesome old bartender came barrelling out the front entrance of the Leaky, still brandishing his broom.

They were in the middle of Muggle London for Merlin’s sake and that twit looked positively mental.

Draco turned and took off up the crowded footpath, startling people as he ducked between legs, ears pinned flat to his head, as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the wizarding pub as possible.

He turned up the nearest side street and continued to run until the footpath was no longer crowded and the buildings had changed from commercial shopfronts to quiet residential flats.

He finally came to a stop beside another set of bins teeming with rubbish - Salazer, he would need a bath when he finally made it home - and sat down to recover his breath.

The longer he stayed in his Animagus form, the harder it was to push down those reflexive reactions. He had to firmly remind himself that the danger had passed and that he no longer needed to keep running.

Draco glanced around for a suitable location to transform and suddenly spotted a familiar form sitting hunched over on a set of steps on the other side of the narrow laneway.

Draco paused, whiskers twitching, as he stared at the Muggle. Why was he so familiar?

And then it hit him - it was Harry Potter; he’d know that ridiculous black hair and short stature anywhere.

Only…

Draco narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. This Potter was in dire need of a shave. And a wash. And some food, apparently.

Draco continued to watch Potter as the man shifted to rest his arms on knees that were far too knobbly to be attached to a thirty-two year old man, all the while staring listlessly at the pavement.

This man in no way resembled the confident, heroic Harry Potter that Draco knew and loathed.

Potter glanced up then and Draco nearly dove behind the bins in alarm, until he remembered that Potter wouldn’t recognise him in this form. Even if Potter had the Animagus register memorised, he wouldn’t know it was Draco because he’d never officially registered with the Ministry. It was truly the only secret he had now; a fact he kept closely guarded as it was his only source of protection some days.

Feeling curious, Draco decided to walk to the edge of the footpath, look up and down the quiet laneway, and then safely cross to Potter’s side of the street.

He slunk along close to the buildings and sat down, partially hidden by the set of steps attached to the building directly beside Potter’s.

Now that he was closer, there was no mistaking that this was indeed Harry Potter; although he wasn’t wearing glasses, his eyes were that same distinctive emerald green - only dull and lifeless.

Potter looked like a shell of a man, with no sign of life inside; as though he was missing his soul.

That was when Draco suddenly remembered that Potter’s two best friends were dead. That nearly the entire Weasley family, plus Longbottom, had all been caught in that explosion about six months ago.

Draco made a habit of avoiding the tripe _The Prophet_ continually produced, but this had been big news and he had reluctantly given in and scanned the articles detailing the attack and Potter’s subsequent breakdown.

He was now staring at the aftermath of that tragedy; Potter had obviously fallen into a deep depression and didn’t appear as though he was about to snap out of it any time soon.

A younger, less mature, Draco may have revelled in the situation: Harry Potter miserable because the Mudblood and the Weasel were gone. But enough time and life experience had passed that Draco only felt an odd sort of curiosity about this stranger sitting there, and even a slight pang of empathy.

He knew what it was like to have the people you held dear taken from you; the loneliness and despair that could creep in on you if you weren’t careful.

Draco shook himself and decided to approach; the urge to snap Potter out of this unsettling stupor propelling him forward. This was also the most interesting thing to have happened to him in a long time and he wasn’t about to pass up the chance for some entertainment. He would simply walk over and then, when Potter inevitably reached down to pat such a handsome specimen of a cat, he would bite his hand.

He flicked his tail and began to trot up the footpath towards the hunched over wizard, wanting to appear as amiable as possible at the onset.

Potter’s lacklustre gaze flicked up to him as he advanced.

Draco chuckled internally as he feigned an air of charming adorability. This was going to be brilliant.

Potter merely stared at him blankly.

Draco felt a flicker of hesitation at Potter’s rather odd behaviour, and then he stopped altogether as a very furrowed scowl appeared on Potter’s pale face, green eyes sharpening.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Potter suddenly shouted aggressively, waving one arm at him.

Draco hissed and jumped back, taken completely by surprise. He was so astonished that he didn’t know quite what to do for a moment.

When Potter began to stand, glaring furiously at him, Draco decided that it was time for him to get out of there.

He turned and ran back up the footpath as fast as he could, wondering if that mad idiot was going to chase after him.

Draco leapt over a deep stairwell and then up onto a brick window ledge, knowing that Potter wouldn’t be able to reach him there unless he used magic, and surely Potter wasn’t crazy enough to draw his wand in Muggle London.

He twisted round on the narrow ledge and looked back down the street. Potter was sitting exactly where he’d left him, no longer watching Draco but staring morosely at the ground once more. It was like the whole incident hadn’t even transpired.

Draco narrowed his almond-shaped eyes and his tail twitched crossly. Well, that was just… infuriating. How dare Potter rage at him nonsensically and then pretend that nothing happened.

The whole thing was completely illogical, and Draco _hated_ things that didn’t make sense.

Why was Potter so angry? If he’d somehow known it was Draco, then surely he would’ve used his name?

The ginger cat nodded to itself on the ledge. Yes, Potter definitely would’ve said, ‘fuck off _Malfoy_.’

Huffing through his tiny nostrils in irritation, Draco leapt off the ledge and back onto the empty footpath. He stared at Potter for a few more seconds before walking in the opposite direction and then ducking into a side alley the next street over to transform. He’d spent long enough in his Animagus form and he really needed to ensure that his costly package of potions ingredients were still where he’d left them.

Draco quickly transformed back into his human self and straightened his wool coat with sharp, jerky movements as he strode back up the footpath towards The Leaky, deftly maneuvering through the crowd of stony-faced Muggles on their way to work.

He was still feeling rather unsettled after the Potter incident and he had a feeling that the sensation would not be leaving him any time soon.

He swiftly collected his parcel from where he’d hidden it without any further confrontation and then used the Leaky’s Floo to travel back to The Three Daggers, a pub located on the outskirts of Westbury. From there, it was just a quick Apparation jump to his front gate.

Draco walked through the door of his home with a sigh of relief. The size of the modest brick house was nowhere near the scope of the Manor - and that was precisely why he’d bought it. It was a spur of the moment decision which he’d made directly after his mother had passed away and he hadn’t regretted it for a moment. On a sunny day, the house was drenched with cheery sunshine that streamed in through the many windows. And in the winter, it was a cosy and comfortable sanctuary which he rarely felt the urge to leave. His local town was non-wizarding, so when he _did_ venture out into the world, he felt comfortable walking into the local pub or visiting the grocers, as they didn’t know him as anyone other than the platinum-haired young man who lived like a hermit at the top of the hill.

He slowly wandered down the hall into the large potions lab adjacent to his kitchen and set the box down on his well-used work bench. He stared down at the top of the paper-wrapped parcel with a thoughtful frown.

He hadn’t heard any further rumours about Potter since he quit the Aurors; no little tidbits about his love life or his overwhelming grief, which they seemed to take great delight in speculating about, despite it being in rather bad taste. He had a feeling that nobody even knew where Potter was. Not even those nosy reporters at _The Prophet_. 

Draco reached down and absently untied the twine around his parcel. He unwrapped the brown paper and then lifted the flaps of the box, beginning to lift out the ingredients and line them up on the bench in order to check them off his supply list before methodically putting them away.

He relaxed as he worked, losing himself in the precise and orderly process, the scent of different dried herbs and fragrant oils infusing the air around him and bringing him peace. He’d been tense since stepping out his front door this morning and only now was he able to feel untroubled again - except for this wretched Potter mystery.

Draco plucked the clipboard off the hook on the wall next to the cabinet and tapped the end of the quill against his jaw in thought. He didn’t have too many orders at the moment, so he could probably afford the time to puzzle out this Potter situation.  

By the time he’d finished up in his lab, cooked dinner, and then sat down with a cup of tea and a book in his favourite armchair by the fire, he had firmly decided to return to Muggle London the next day in his Animagus form; just to see what sort of reaction it produced from the withdrawn Gryffindor.

He cracked open his novel and sat back with a slight smirk.

Hopefully he would get close enough to bite him tomorrow.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Draco peered around the corner of the building, tail twitching with anticipation as he scanned the steps for Potter.

There he was: identical hunched over posture, same unkempt hair and blank expression on his face as he stared at nothing. He was even dressed in the same clothing he'd been wearing the day before.

Draco's small pink cat nose wrinkled in distaste and some unnamed anger seemed to spring up within him.

He didn't know why Potter's depression bothered him so much; there was just something so unnaturally defeatist in the sight of it. Potter had endured heartbreak and death before and had never been utterly broken by it like he so clearly was now. Granted, this was quite a lot of loved ones taken all at once, but still… Potter was resilient and irrepressible in a way that Draco knew he would never be.

Maybe that's what troubled him the most; if a man like Harry Potter could succumb to despair, then what chance did the rest of the survivors of the war have? How could Draco foster that tiny flame of hope that lived within him, encouraging him to believe that one day he would escape the mistakes of his past and live a normal life, if Harry bloody Potter couldn't do it?

He may have disliked Potter at school but a part of him had always admired Potter's strength of character; envied it really. It was the one thing Draco knew he sorely lacked, still did, to be honest, only he hid away and avoided conflict at all costs these days.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter's dejected posture and used his irritation to drive him forwards down the quiet laneway. It was easy to be pushy and brave in his Animagus form because Potter had no idea who he was.

He trotted up the footpath on Potter's side of the street, wary this time of what sort of greeting he would receive. He was about a metre away when the Boy-Who-Lived finally noticed him.

Draco stopped and watched as that same deep scowl appeared on Potter's face, drawing his dark brows down over furious green eyes.

_“At least it was_ _ **some**_ _sort of emotion_ ,” Draco thought distantly.

"Fuck. Off."

This time he was ready for it and Draco stood his ground, waiting.

Amazingly, Potter's face began to turn red with rage. Potter straightened up and placed his hands on his knees, knuckles whitening rather alarmingly.

The fact that they were in Muggle London was the only thing keeping Draco from turning tail and running away. His heart was pounding but he wanted to see what Potter would do next, and so he waited.

"I said - fuck _off_!" Potter shouted aggressively, not bothering to keep his voice down in the slightest as he leaned towards the small ginger cat.

Draco cocked his head to one side somewhat cheekily as he continued to stare implacably back at him.

Potter's eyes widened and he looked almost comically apoplectic with fury, his scar a livid white on his flushed forehead.

"How dare you-" Potter seemed to choke on his own anger - or perhaps his voice had given out simply because he was so unused to speaking to anyone anymore.

Draco would have scoffed in amusement if he could've as Potter abruptly flapped a hand towards him, as though _that_ would frighten him away.

Draco suddenly yowled and jumped into the air, his ginger-haired tail puffing out in surprise and pain as a _Stinging Hex_ hit him squarely in the chest.

He spun and sprinted up the street without a second thought.

It wasn't until he was three streets over that Draco began to slow and then stop behind a long planter box full of scraggly roses, breathing hard, pulse racing.

" _Potter fucking hexed me!"_ he thought furiously. The fact that Potter had managed it wandlessly only added to Draco's ire. _"That smug, thick-headed, celebrity… wanker!"_

Draco's outrage was demanding that he return straight away, and he had to forcibly convince himself to stay put and calm down. He was not the same impulsive, hot-tempered prat he'd been at Hogwarts. He wasn't.

Not that he was going to let this go; he couldn't let Potter win. Even if the idiot didn't know it was Draco, it was the principle of the matter.

Goading Potter into losing his shit was still one of his favourite pastimes, and Draco knew it would be far more infuriating for him to return the next day at the exact same time rather than to rush back now without a well-executed plan in mind.

With that satisfying thought in mind, Draco transformed and returned home to the safety and comfort of his lab, fully prepared to return the next day for Round Two.

The following morning, Potter's expression upon seeing the same ginger cat walking towards him was pricelessly incredulous. His lips parted and he just stared, utterly gobsmacked, for a full minute, as though he couldn't believe the audacity of this relentless pussy.

Draco would have laughed if he was able to.

Potter blinked and then frowned at him as Draco sat down on the footpath, placidly staring up at Potter on the cold concrete steps above him.

"I know what you are," Potter eventually said, voice rough from disuse. "I may not know _who_ you are, but I know what you are."

Draco watched as Potter ran a hand over his pale, exhausted face and then up through his mess of hair with a heavy sigh. He looked tired and weary, as though fighting with the strange cat wasn't really worth the effort that morning.

"If you're hoping for an exclusive interview, you're not going to get it," he eventually spoke again.

Draco flicked the tip of his tail in surprise; Potter thought he was a reporter incognito.

Potter looked at him silently for another minute, still frowning, and then stood and walked back into his building without another word.

Draco relaxed as Potter disappeared through the doors. He hadn't been hexed but Potter's tired, despondent acceptance was almost worse than the irrational anger.

He supposed the anger wasn't completely misplaced if Potter suspected that he was from _The Prophet_.

Draco turned and slowly made his way home again, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

 

 

"Okay, I've had enough of this. Leave me the fuck _alone_!"

Potter was back to being furious again on Friday.

And Saturday.

And the next day, and the next.

And the next.

Potter didn't throw another hex at him over the course of the following week though, he appeared as though he wanted to, very much, but restrained himself. Perhaps he thought it might end up in the paper.

After a solid week of promptly visiting at ten o’clock every morning, Potter finally responded by dropping his face into his hands and shaking his head back and forth, as though he was losing his mind.

Draco inwardly gloated; he'd finally annoyed Potter beyond reason, and this cheered him immensely.

He sat and watched with interest as Potter lifted his head and stared at him with a perplexed frown.

Draco waited for him to make the next move; perhaps he wouldn't say a thing and simply stomp back inside his building again.

He'd wondered why Potter kept coming outside every morning when he knew Draco would most likely be there to irritate the fuck out of him. Was Potter suffering from some strange compulsion that forced him outside every single day to sit on the steps? It was Autumn, and not a warm Autumn, so it couldn't be to enjoy the sunshine.

"I don't know what you're hoping to accomplish with this… this game you're playing at,” Potter finally uttered in that same gravelly, unused voice, staring at him expectantly, as though he half expected Draco to reply. "You think I'm just going to suddenly spill my deepest, darkest secrets to you? I fucking hate the press," he added pointedly, turning away to stare at the scuffed toes of his well-worn trainers.

Short of transforming, Draco didn't know what to do to convince Potter that he wasn't a reporter. He supposed he could bring a note with him explaining that he wasn't a member of the press chasing front page material, but then, he didn't really know how to explain what he _was_ there for. He didn't even really know himself.

Draco felt a tiny, hot flicker of resentment; what he _did_ know, was that Potter was being utterly selfish. His mum hadn't risked her life to save Potter just so he could decide to be a waste of space. A lot of people had sacrificed themselves so that Potter could go on to accomplish great things in his stupid, Chosen One existence.

The reminder of his mother, whom he'd loved dearly, was just too much, and Draco leapt up onto the steps and bit the exposed skin of Potter's ankle beneath the hem of his trousers.

"Ow!" Potter exclaimed as he kicked out his leg in response to the unexpected assault.

Draco quickly darted up the footpath out of arm's reach but didn't run away. He stopped and turned, watching as Potter reached down to wrap one hand around the shallow teeth marks Draco'd left in his ankle, wide green eyes staring at Draco in disbelief.

Draco licked his lips, inwardly shuddering at the fact that he'd just willingly tasted Potter; the man probably hadn't bathed in a week.

Potter slowly straightened, releasing his ankle and staring at Draco with narrowed eyes. Potter's disbelief had transformed into a strange shrewdness which was making Draco slightly uneasy; as though Potter saw right through his Animagus form to the man within. It was a look of mistrust which he'd been subjected to from Potter on more than one occasion in his lifetime.

"You're not a journalist," Potter finally said slowly - and it wasn't a question.

Draco carefully sat down where he was, sharp oval eyes on Potter as he stared back at him, waiting to see what sort of conclusion Potter would draw from his moment of lapsed control.

Potter frowned, but for the first time in a week, it was thoughtful rather than angry.

"You bit me," he finally expostulated.

Draco huffed through his nose with laughter, unable to express his amusement in any other way.

Potter blinked. "Did you- Are you _laughing_ at me?"

Draco looked away, trying to get himself under control. It really was a very uncomfortable feeling to want to laugh but unable to in the usual 'human' method.

"You are," Potter concluded under his breath, sounding amazed and cross all at once.

Draco's gaze flicked back to him.

Potter pushed his glasses up on his nose and his eyes narrowed further. "Who _are_ you?"

Draco merely waited, tail swishing from side to side on the cool concrete beneath his paws.

Potter sighed and looked down at his reddened ankle. He idly scratched at the bite marks for a moment, clearly lost in thought.

"Is this some sort of cruel trick?" he asked quietly.

Draco blinked in surprise, wondering what on earth Potter meant by that.

Potter glanced up at him and then just as quickly looked away again.

Draco watched with interest as Potter stood and walked back into his building without explaining.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco decided to try something a little different the next morning. He showed up early and approached from the other end of the street, just to see if he could catch Potter coming out of his building. He wanted to observe what he did prior to Draco's arrival each day.

He was dismayed to see Potter already sitting in his usual position on the front steps: elbows on knees and chin resting in his hands as he stared at the ground with that familiar vacant expression.

Draco crouched out of sight behind a parked car, watching him undetected. He wondered what time Potter ventured out every morning - or perhaps he was there all night. He never looked as though he succeeded in getting much sleep.

Draco noticed that Potter didn't seem to change position at all; his gaze appeared to arbitrarily roam to different targets, such as the building across from him or the bustling footpath along the high street at the end of the road, but he never appeared as though he was actually taking in what he was looking at. He simply sat in the same position and didn't react to anything around him.

Draco felt that same flicker of irritation at the sight, and perhaps disappointment as well, if he had to put a name to it. In all the years that Draco had known him, Potter had never been one to sit still, he'd always been very fidgety at Hogwarts, as though his body wished to be in perpetual motion; fingers tapping or leg jiggling, especially in class.

It had always annoyed Draco, but now all he wanted was for Potter to display a hint of that same restlessness again; some trace of normalcy to convince Draco that someone else hadn't taken over Potter's body.

Draco spotted a young couple walking towards the car he was crouched behind and he quickly darted back across the footpath to hide behind a set of steps attached to a white painted terrace house with bright red window boxes.

The street Potter chose to while away his time on was actually quite pleasant. It had rows of pretty terraced homes along the length of it except for the one block of flats which Potter sat in front of. It was fairly quiet for being in central London. Draco had wondered if it perhaps it had a bit of Muggle deterring magic behind it, but he'd seen enough Muggles strolling through the area to know that wasn't the case; it was just abnormally peaceful.

He wondered why Potter hadn't chosen a more interesting and vibrant street to sit on if that was how he wished to live out the rest of his days.

Draco suddenly noticed that there was a bit of movement from Potter. He watched for a minute and quickly spotted that the Gryffindor was continually glancing at something in the distance, something beyond Draco's hiding place at the far end of the street. It was the first time Potter had shown any sort of normal behaviour, as though he was actually waiting for something to happen; like the arrival of the Knight Bus.

Draco turned around to see if he could figure out what Potter was looking at. His whiskers twitched with frustration when all he could see were more buildings and an uninteresting man walking with one of those Muggle telephones pressed to his ear.

Draco turned back to Potter and waited for him to look the same way again, and when he inevitably did, Draco quickly turned to follow his line of sight.

Potter's attention seemed to be caught by a large ornate clock sitting atop a nearby building.

Why was Potter concerned with the time?

Draco turned back around and caught the tiny frown on Potter's face before the man turned away to stare at his shoes once more.

Perhaps Potter was expecting someone. Perhaps the git finally had actual plans for the day ahead!

The prospect was rather exciting; igniting Draco's curiosity as he settled in to wait to see what unfolded next.

After tedious minutes of nothing happening, a sudden - and horrible - thought crossed his mind.

What if Potter was waiting for _him?_

The clock showed that it was fifteen minutes past the time Draco would usually make an appearance, and he had been extraordinarily prompt with his visits every morning, so this was the first time he'd not been there directly at ten.

Draco had come to suspect that Potter wasn't in contact with anyone in the wizarding world anymore and, if Potter really wasn't waiting for anyone, then it was beginning to look as though Draco's assumptions were correct and Potter really was waiting for the ginger cat to make his daily appearance.

He supposed irritating Potter was something of a novelty for the idiot after months of self-imposed monotony.

He didn't want to consider just how closely Potter's self-inflicted isolation resembled his own life.

Draco quickly shook the negative thought from his head; _he_ wasn't a depressed layabout who never spoke to anyone.

He stepped out from behind the stairs and took a deep breath before casually sauntering up the empty footpath.

Potter spotted him as he turned his head to glance at the clock.

Draco couldn't read any sort of expression on his face but at least he didn't look angry.

Draco carefully sat down at his customary distance of remaining out of kicking reach while Potter stared at him, lips turned down in a very slight scowl. He was wearing his trademark glasses today; sometimes he went without them for whatever reason.

"Where have _you_ been then?" Potter muttered.

Draco blinked up at him without making a sound.

"I was hoping you'd given up." Potter's piercing green eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you, you know," he added. He waited a beat and then turned away with a sigh. "I don't know why I'm speaking to you," he said under his breath, sounding cross with himself.

Draco would have smirked if he could; even unable to speak he managed to aggravate Potter. He took a chance and moved a little closer, right to the foot of the stairs.

Potter's gaze immediately swung back to him and his scowl deepened. "What do you think you're doing?"

Draco considered responding with some sort of 'meow' but found the idea too undignified. He merely cocked his head to one side and waited.

Potter chewed his lip, dark brows still drawn down in a frown, but his gaze was pensive.

"You're very persistent, you know that?" he eventually commented. He blew out a breath that lifted his messy, too-long fringe as he continued to stare at Draco. "Which makes me suspect that you are in fact a member of the press." He paused. "But then, no reporter I know would bite me on the ankle - a _nd_ ," he added, tone gaining energy the longer he spoke, "the paparazzi haven’t shown up on my doorstep to harass me, so I'm guessing that you didn’t write an article divulging my location to the world at large."

Potter stared at him expectantly, as though awaiting an answer, and then sighed, frustrated.

Draco carefully swallowed the urge to purr.

"You clearly want something from me," Potter finally muttered into the silence. "Why don't you just get it the fuck over with and do whatever it is you came here to do?"

Draco contemplated his response; he couldn't _say_ anything, and he sure as hell wasn't about to transform because Potter would likely murder him on the spot.

He finally leapt up onto the step beside Potter and calmly sat down. He faced out into the street and pretended to be fascinated by an unbalanced lorry slowly trundling its way down the narrow street in front of them.

Potter stiffened and Draco saw the man's right hand twitch towards his pocket, as though wanting to reach for his wand, but then he carefully laid his hand back down on his lap, all the while staring at Draco with suspicious eyes.

“That wasn't an invitation."

Draco merely lifted one small paw and began to clean it, deftly keeping an eye on the man beside him.

Potter snorted. "Don't pretend," he said derisively, and then shuffled away to lean his back against the black wrought-iron railing, hugging his knees to his chest as he faced Draco with a wary expression. "I know you, don't I?" he finally said quietly.

Draco paused in his grooming and raised his eyes to meet Potter's. He purposely held his gaze a moment and then used his freshly cleaned paw to scrub at his ear.

No harm in allowing Potter some small tidbits of the truth, just so that he's a little less guarded.

Potter sighed and let his head fall back against the railing.

Draco stopped his grooming and observed his childhood nemesis with that same hot twinge of irritation which started this whole mad interaction in the first place. This was the closest he'd been to Potter and the mottled purple skin under his red-rimmed eyes was startlingly conspicuousness in his pale, washed out face. His cheekbones also stood out a lot more prominently than they used to. He was certainly not the strong, unwavering 'hero' that he'd once been. Even though Draco had disliked Potter in school, he had always grudgingly admitted - if only to himself - that Potter had a certain physical appeal which had regrettably fueled some rather arousing teenage dreams.

Looking at Potter now though, he wouldn't dare touch him for fear of catching something.

"So… you're someone I know," Potter continued as though there hadn't been an incredibly long break in their one-sided conversation, "but you can't be someone I like because they're all dead."

This was said with such straight-forward apathy that it took Draco a moment to register what he'd even said.

Potter seemed to detect Draco's surprise and smiled grimly. "What? You didn't think I'd mention it?"

_Well no,_ Draco thought, taken aback.

Potter looked away, out into the quiet street, defiantly grim expression still on his face.

Draco frowned; this was all wrong. This stupid, infuriating, washed-up hero was so fucking… unacceptable. That's what this version of Potter was; unacceptable.

Draco stood and did the only thing he could think of: he hissed.

Potter's head jerked back towards him. "What are you doing?"

Draco lowered his head and let loose a warning growl from low in his throat.

Potter's brow rose as he observed the small irate housecat. "Why don't you just save us both the trouble and transform? Then you can just say whatever it is that has your knickers in such a twist and then kindly fuck off."

Draco had half a mind to do it; Potter would be so shocked that it would almost be worth it. He took a step closer and emitted another 'yowl' of displeasure, grey eyes narrowed.

" _What_?" Potter cried, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation as his legs fell open into a cross-legged position.

Draco's gaze suddenly caught on Potter's recalcitrant shoelace and before he could stop himself, he'd leapt into the air and batted at it, claws extended.

Potter let out a yelp of surprise and jerked his foot back, dragging Draco with it, small claws firmly embedded in the grubby lace.

Draco quickly got ahold of himself and detached his claws from the tempting shoelace before leaping back down the steps to the footpath in one slightly unsteady bound.

He stood in the middle of the footpath for a moment, feeling quite wild as he tried to recover from his feline form taking over in such an abrupt manner. He'd clearly been in his cat form for too long if he couldn't even resist a shoelace for Merlin's sake.

He heard a strange sound and turned to glance back at Potter.

Draco blinked; the git was laughing at him!

In a strange, off-kilter, snorting sort of way that indicated he hadn't laughed in quite some time - but it was still laughing.

"The look on your face cat," Potter exclaimed with a smug grin.

Draco couldn't help but stare at the transformation this small hint of glee made to Potter's appearance; he almost looked human again and much less like a sour, scruffy, homeless person.

Draco didn't know whether to be offended that Potter was laughing at him or triumphant because he made Potter feel something other than horribly gloomy, which he supposed was the goal of all this nonsense.

Feeling delighted that Potter was slightly more cheerful wasn't really something Draco wanted to dwell on though, so he lifted his nose into the air and turned away with a sniff.

Another snort of laughter followed him all the way up the footpath as he flicked his tail into the air and walked home with as much dignity as he could muster.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco had trouble falling asleep that night, his mind kept turning over the Potter situation, trying to work out his next step.

That morning had been a bit of a break-through; he'd made Potter laugh, and he'd clearly been waiting for Draco to show up at his usual time.

He was under no illusion that Potter  _liked_  him, he was still very suspicious of Draco, but the strange ginger cat was providing a definite distraction for the righteous wanker and he suspected that that might just be enough over time.

Draco snorted and turned over onto his side, gaze sliding to his bedroom window as he stared out at the night sky. There were no bright city lights in this part of the country so on a clear night there was an amazing view of the vast blanket of stars scattered above him. Tonight though, the thick cloud bank kept the stars hidden from sight.

How long was he really going to keep visiting Potter for?

He couldn't come up with an answer to that question and after a while his eyes slowly drifted shut as he fell asleep. It wasn't long before the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils and the hot lick of flames tried to burn his exposed skin. His arms held on for dear life, nearly crushing the ribs of his only chance of survival. Hot air rushed over his face and through his hair as he glued his chin to a solid shoulder and closed his eyes; wishing it was over already, hoping against hope that he wasn't about to die.

Draco's eyes snapped open, heart racing.

His bedroom was shadowed and silent, clouds still slowly making their way across the sky outside his window, a far cry from the heat and terror and noise of the Room of Requirement.

He sat up and ran a trembling hand over his face before reaching for the glass of water on his bedside cabinet.

It had been quite awhile since the last nightmare about that time in his life. The nightmares had come back for a period of time after his mother's death, but this was the first he'd had in nearly a year. All this Potter nonsense must be dragging it back into his subconscious again.

Draco drank down the tepid water and placed the empty glass back on the wooden cabinet. He turned to look out the window as he breathed evenly, trying to calm his rattled nerves.

He never would have survived that day if Potter hadn't returned for him. Draco had been nothing but horrible to him and yet Potter had still deemed him worthy enough to save; to protect Draco from harm despite placing his own life at risk in order to do so.

Draco lay back down with a sigh.

And that was why he must persevere with this. If he could help Potter regain his life, especially without ever knowing who was helping him, then he would continue to do so until it worked. Until he had saved Potter in return.

 

*          *           *           *

 

Before he'd fallen asleep again, Draco had come up with a plan for the next morning's Potter visit. He would sit next to him on his stupid step and just stare at him until Potter became exasperated. Then, if Potter began to speak to him again, he would stop staring and look away or pretend to wash his paw.

So if Potter proved to be as intelligent as a common Labrador – which may or may not be likely - then Potter would quickly pick up on the fact that he was being rewarded for speaking.

Draco considered bringing Potter treats as an incentive, perhaps some treacle toffee, but then he would have no way of carrying them in his Animagus form without some sort of bag – and a cat carrying a handbag would definitely gain some unwanted attention from the Muggles.

Unfortunately, what he didn't count on was the torrential downpour holding steady over London.

He took refuge from the wet under an awning as the Muggles hurried past with their black umbrellas waving above their heads and chins tucked into coats, intent on getting to their destination as quickly as possible.

Draco glowered up at the sky, or rather, the ginger cat did. He didn't particularly like rain even in his human form.

He took a deep breath and soldiered on, dashing from the shelter of the shop awning and then racing through the rain to Potter's street.

His fur was thoroughly soaked by the time he'd made it to Potter's steps and he was beginning to question his sanity.

Especially when he looked up and saw that Potter wasn't even there. The concrete steps were empty.

Draco frowned, for some reason he never considered that Potter's presence would be weather dependent. What sort of depressed person cares about the rain?

Just as a litany of colourful curse words began to filter through Draco's annoyed head, the front door to the building opened.

Draco stared and Potter stared back.

"Come on then," Potter finally said with a heavy sigh, as though quite put out. He stepped back and held the door open.

Draco was utterly gobsmacked; why would Potter suddenly trust him enough to allow him into his home? It was just reckless foolishness on Potter's part; it's no wonder he was sorted Gryffindor.

"No? Okay." Potter turned away and began to walk back inside.

Draco inhaled sharply and sprinted up the steps and through the gap in the door just as it was about to shut.

Potter glanced back over his shoulder with a smug expression and Draco scowled at him as best he could, small pointed ears flattened to his wet head.

Potter smirked before he turned back around and Draco had no choice but to chase after him.

Draco followed him past the stairs leading up to the other floors and then around the corner. Draco looked around with interest as they walked down a narrow, white and grey painted corridor to the second door on the left. The door was painted a horrible yellow colour and had a black thirty-five stuck to the centre of it.

Potter pushed through without checking to see if the cat was still behind him and Draco hesitated only a second before following.

Potter's ground floor flat was a small and well-appointed studio residence. It wasn't to Draco's taste; all modern minimalism with none of the cosy touches of English country charm like his old restored farmhouse in Wiltshire, however, he could appreciate the clean and bright look of the space, even if it was all very Muggle and impersonal.

Potter walked into the kitchen, wearing an ill-fitting red jumper and navy blue joggers that made Draco want to roll his eyes, and finally turned back to his 'guest.' He narrowed his eyes and Draco felt a flicker of fear before noticing that Potter wasn't wearing his glasses today so perhaps the speccy git was merely squinting to see him properly.

"Coffee?" Potter offered dryly.

Draco actually  _did_  roll his eyes at that.

Potter snorted and folded his arms over his chest. "Well now I know for sure you're not a real cat. Cats aren't sarcastic."

Draco completely disagreed with that statement; cats were cuttingly sarcastic thank you very much.

"You're dripping all over my carpet," Potter pointed out, though he didn't actually sound concerned. He grabbed a dishtowel from where it was hanging on his kitchen wall and then carelessly tossed it at the sodden cat.

Draco jumped aside and then shot Potter a look of contempt. What did he expect Draco to do with that? Roll around on it like some kind of common dog?

Instead, Draco trotted into the lounge area and hopped up onto the sofa. He turned to look at Potter and then shook himself; scattering raindrops all over the pale fabric.

Potter gaped at him a moment before shaking his head. "You're an arse, do you know that? Maybe you are a real cat..." he muttered before walking over to sit on the window seat, arms folded over his chest once more and gaze on Draco, appearing slightly wary again.

 _Well you invited me inside_ , Draco thought with exasperation.

There was silence for a long while and then Potter turned to look out the window, as though forgetting that Draco was even there.

Draco took the opportunity to look around the flat. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting; for one thing, he thought all the furniture would be buried under piles of take-away containers and dirty laundry. Isn't that what miserably, depressed people did? Outside on the steps Potter had given off the impression that he didn't give a shit about anything anymore.

But his flat was quite the opposite; it was very neat and tidy, in fact, there was absolutely no clutter anywhere. No photographs or personal touches at all. There wasn't even a book or magazine lying about on the coffee table.

"If you're looking to nick something from me you'll be sorely disappointed."

Draco turned back to see Potter observing him.

"As you can see, there's not much here, I don't even own a telly, and if you're hoping to find some sort of Harry Potter memorabilia to sell off then you're out of luck there too. The only thing I have here is my wand and I always have it on me. Sorry."

Potter sounded quite cross by the end of his little speech, as though Draco had somehow already confessed that he was definitely here to steal Potter's used tissues to sell to all the Harry Potter sycophants out there.

He didn't miss Potter saying 'here' though, which indicated that he may have had another location where he kept his more personal items. Probably all the things that reminded him of the people whom he didn't wish to think about anymore.

Draco looked at Potter's hard expression. No wonder he sat outside on the steps, there was nothing in here, nothing to take his mind off of what had happened to all his loved ones. Was he doing that on purpose?

After his mother had passed, Draco had thrown himself into his work and had forced himself out into the village to socialise a little. At first it had been to distract himself, but it also eventually enabled him to carry on with his life too.

How was Potter going to achieve that if he didn't take any steps towards it?

Maybe Potter didn't want to move on with his life. Maybe Potter felt as though he had nothing to live for anymore.

With incomprehensible thoughts of a suicidal Harry Potter in his head, Draco leapt off the sofa and up onto the window seat next to him.

He thought about placing his paw on Potter's thigh, in a clear show of sympathy, but somehow he didn't think that that was what Potter needed. Potter would have received all the sickeningly sweet sympathy he could take from everyone around him after the tragedy occurred and it clearly hadn't helped him.

Draco abruptly stood up on his hind legs and – careful to keep his claws retracted - batted his paw hard across Potter's cheek.

Potter gasped and then stared down at him with incredulous eyes.

"Did you just..." Potter started, looking stunned, and then suddenly his lips twitched into a genuine smile of amusement. "Did you just slap me across the face?"

Draco snorted through his tiny pink nostrils and nodded his head, caught by surprise by the unexpected laughter bubbling up within him.

Potter laughed and this time it sounded a bit more natural and not quite so stilted like yesterday.

"You are an odd duck, do you know that?"

Draco nodded again and Potter laughed.

Draco hadn't known how good it could feel to make someone laugh, he'd never really tried to be funny before. He hadn't really been trying just now with Potter either, but somehow Potter seemed to find his arsehole behaviour amusing.

Potter's expression turned pensive as he looked down at Draco, but he was still smiling; as though Draco was an entertaining puzzle that he was determined to work out.

Potter stood and began to walk towards the small kitchen area. "Hungry?" he asked as he opened a cupboard and then glanced back at Draco with a smirk. "I think I have some milk."

Draco's grey cat eyes sparkled with mirth as he hopped down and made his way over, trying to decide on the best revenge for Potter's snide comment.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco stared down at the small saucer heaped with tuna while Potter watched him from the opposite sofa; amusement clear in his eyes. Potter had put his glasses back on, probably in order to see Draco's expression of disdain more clearly.

Problem was, the longer Draco was in his cat form the more bits of his feline nature seeped through. The pile of pale pink fish was looking quite tempting, and he _was_ gettinga little hungry.

But he really didn't want to give Potter the satisfaction of eating it.

Potter snickered and Draco glanced up at him. Potter had an untouched egg and ham sandwich on a plate set out in front of him next to a steaming cup of tea that looked like it was more milk than tea.

Well if he was going to eat this tin of tuna then Potter was damn well going to eat his own meal too. The git clearly didn't eat enough.

Draco leapt onto the coffee table, sliding a little on the glass before padding over to the plate holding Potter's sandwich. He stuck out his right paw and touched the edge of the plate.

"What? You want my sandwich?" Potter asked with a confused frown. "I don't think cats eat sandwiches."

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the plate along the glass surface towards Potter.

A look of understanding dawned. "Oh… you want _me_ to eat it." He paused and then scowled, looking suddenly irritated. "Why do you care if I eat this or not?"

Merlin, the man was moody.

Draco sat and merely looked at him, hoping his expression accurately conveyed his exasperation.

Potter's jaw tightened as he stared back at him. He eventually leaned forwards, arms resting across his knees. "If I eat this sandwich, then will you answer some yes or no questions for me?" he asked with just the barest hint of a challenge in his tone.

Draco's tail flicked across the smooth surface of the table as he considered Potter's request. It seemed harmless enough, so he finally nodded in acceptance. He knew he could refuse to answer a question if he really wanted to.

He returned to the other sofa and his small saucer of tuna. He took a tentative bite of the fish and chewed thoughtfully. He didn't think he'd ever eaten in his Animagus form before and it was a strange sensation. He had to admit the tuna _was_ rather good.

"I suppose I should start with asking once and for all if you're with _The Prophet_ ," Potter said, and then quickly amended, "or with any other media source."

Draco stared pointedly at Potter's still untouched lunch until the skinny idiot took the hint and picked it up. Sighing heavily, he eventually took a bite and then proceeded to chew with a sullen look on his face.

Draco then shook his head in response to Potter's question.

Potter's gaze was assessing as he gazed back at him, as though weighing up whether to believe the little Animagus or not.

"So… you're not a member of the press," he said slowly, still watching Draco with that shrewd look on his pale face. "Or so you say," he muttered under his breath. Draco took another delicate bite of his tuna while Potter gathered his thoughts. "Did you know me before this? In your human form?"

Draco nodded; Potter would never guess it was him in a million years so he didn't see the harm in admitting that they were already acquainted.

"At Hogwarts?"

Again Draco nodded.

Potter tore off a piece of his bread crust and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he watched Draco.

"I want to ask why you're here," Potter said next, seeming to drop the whole Hogwarts line of questioning. "But I don't know how to phrase that as a yes or no question."

Draco kept eating, keeping one eye on Potter as he patiently waited for him to continue.

Potter sighed, fiddling with his food, which he looked disinclined to eat any further.

"Are you simply here because you care about me?"

Draco blinked, completely and utterly thrown by the blunt question. He squirmed a little; he hated feeling emotionally vulnerable, and had he been in his human form he would have merely scoffed at the query and not answered, but instead he cautiously considered the question.

He _supposed_ his plan to help Potter came from a place of caring, what else would it be called? Potter had saved the entire wizarding world but he'd specifically saved Draco's life too and one couldn't walk away from that experience without feeling some sort of bond with Potter. There was a niggling sense of obligation that Draco knew he'd always feel towards the Chosen One, but actually giving a shit about the man didn't come from any life debt, it came from Potter trusting his mother in that forest not to reveal the truth to Voldemort, it came from Potter defending Draco and his mother at the Death Eater trials.

Potter had cared enough to grant Draco the life he had now and Draco realised that he actually bloody cared if Potter had a life he appreciated as well.

It was a rather startling epiphany.

Draco shook himself and focussed on Potter again. The man was still gazing at him expectantly.

He hesitated a second before finally nodding his head in affirmation.

Potter's impossibly green eyes widened a fraction as he leaned back against the sofa, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged, balancing his forgotten sandwich on one knee.

Draco waited tensely for Potter to ask another question. Even though he couldn't speak, he felt suddenly exposed and defenceless.

"So you, whoever you are," Potter finally inserted into the silence, sounding like his emotions had flip-flopped back to guarded again, "are on a mission to cheer me up? Is that it?"

Draco didn't like the arbitrary term Potter had used but he supposed it was true enough, so he nodded.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Are you from the Ministry? Are you trying to get me to return to the Auror Division?"

Draco's eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. That was the last place Potter needed to be; he needed something new, something different and less stressful. Also something less saturated with bad memories. It was the same reason Draco had stopped visiting the Manor. He still owned it and ensured that there were people or house-elves in place to keep it from falling into disrepair, but he never stepped foot in it anymore, not since his mother had passed and he'd decided to find his own home.

Potter's stiff expression eased a little. "Well good, because I'm never going back." He stopped and sighed, looking suddenly weary. This had probably been quite a taxing day for the lazy sod. "If you _are_ a reporter then I guess I just handed you your headline: 'Potter Never to Return to the Aurors' or 'Potter Abandons his Saviour Duties'." Potter's tone turned hard and brittle. "Hundreds to lose their lives in the aftermath of Harry Potter deserting the wizarding world." Potter's severe gaze returned to the little observing cat. "That's what they're saying you know, all those politicians trying to guilt me into returning, but my presence didn't stop what happened at-"

Potter abruptly cut himself off, his hand slashing the air in an angry gesture that showed just how much emotion was still lurking under the surface; emotion that really needed to be dealt with. The man obviously needed to talk to somebody and, while Draco felt ill-equipped to be Potter's personal therapist, it also looked like he might be the only option.

Potter turned towards the window, cheeks flushed with anger, hands clenched into fists; crushing the poor forgotten egg and ham sandwich. Potter had a faraway look in his eyes; one that let Draco know that he wasn't in the room with him anymore but reliving some memory or becoming lost in toxic, detrimental thoughts.

Draco stood and jumped onto the coffee table and then leapt neatly onto Potter's sofa. The distracted Gryffindor didn't even notice. Draco placed one fuzzy ginger paw on Potter's hand - the one squashing the sandwich - and slowly sunk his needle-sharp claws into the skin.

"Ow!" Potter startled and turned to glare at him. "You little shit! You can't just maim me every time you don't like what I say."

Draco cocked his head to one side and then nodded cheekily.

Potter didn't seem amused this time. "I think it's time you went home cat. I don't know what I was thinking inviting some stranger into my home like this. I want you to leave." He shook Draco's tiny claws off of his hand and then stood, tossing his mutilated sandwich onto the table. "I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I could be fixed if you just spent enough time with me. I can't be fixed, nothing will _ever_ be normal for me again; I will always have this horrible, hollow, guilty feeling inside of me and the only thing that could possibly make me happy again would be if all of those people who were murdered came back to life - and that's not fucking likely, is it? So just give up cat and fuck off, find some other charity case to annoy."

Draco was actually quite pleased with Potter's outburst, he'd inadvertently revealed quite a lot in that furious tirade. Draco didn't want to push his luck though so he obediently jumped down and trotted to the door without making a fuss.

Potter looked surprised by his easy acquiescence and then swiftly moved to open the door for him.

Draco followed Potter back down the corridor to the front entrance of the building. The rain was still pounding the pavement outside in a steady beat and Draco eyed the wet weather with distaste, already dreaming of sinking into a hot bath in his wonderful claw foot tub at home.

"Erm, I'm sorry about all this," Potter said, his earlier anger suddenly replaced by awkward contriteness. "I don't really know what I was thinking. Uh, goodbye."

Draco eyed him a moment, trying to convey that he would be back the next morning whether Potter liked it or not, especially now that he knew which flat was his. If Potter wasn't outside on the steps then he could simply sit outside his window.

With that satisfying thought in mind, Draco proceeded out into the rain without looking back.

He rushed up the footpath to the adjoining alley and quickly transformed behind a giant skip bin before Apparating directly home, the loud crack of magic lost amid the sound of hammering rain.

Draco set a few simple potions brewing when he returned home, leaving them to simmer while he walked into his ensuite to run a bath.

He loved his home; it never failed to set him at ease the moment he walked through the door. It was one place that didn't hold any bad memories for him and which he had created just for himself. He wondered if Potter felt the same way about his little flat.

Draco turned off the taps and slowly sank into the hot water with a sigh, the air all around him infused with the mingled scents of vanilla and lavender; his favourite bath potion which he'd created himself. It had a touch of muscle relaxant in it as well. The mild muscle relaxant along with the lavender immediately eased any lingering tension in his body and soothed his whirling mind.

He leaned his head back against the rim of the tub and closed his eyes, body going limp beneath the hot water, the gentle sound of tapping rain on the window only adding to the tranquil atmosphere. The strength of the rain in London had been relentless, but out here in the country it was mellow and comforting.

Perhaps he should trade homes with Potter for a fortnight, it might just unwind the uptight wanker. Potter's flat might be his refuge from the world but it wasn't liberating him from his pain; it was keeping him caged in limbo, stuck in inexorable suffering.

It was frustrating not being able to simply speak to the git. Potter had said that he couldn't be fixed, that unless all the Weasley's were suddenly brought back to life, he would never be happy again.

Draco opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

He'd thought that way too when his mother had died, like he'd never be able to feel real joy again, but slowly you start to thaw and begin to feel again. He knew the ache of missing her would never go away entirely, and there were still moments when he'd remember something from his childhood, some warm memory of her, and it would hurt, but for the most part he could get on with his daily life without getting mired in sadness.

Thinking of his mother reminded him that she would be proud of what he was trying to do for Harry Potter, and she'd be proud of everything he'd accomplished in his life since her death, but she wouldn't want him to live such an isolated life, that she would want him to find someone to share it with. It was something she had feverishly pressed upon him in those final few days of her life, when Draco had still believed he could heal her, but she'd undoubtedly known the truth.

Draco closed his eyes with a sigh.

He would get on that, he would, he just needed to finish this Potter thing first.

Somehow it seemed important to get Potter back on track before he did the same thing for himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Potter obviously had some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder because at ten the following morning, he was sitting on the front steps of his building as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before.

The rain had finally stopped but the day was still overcast and grey as Draco approached along the empty footpath, wondering what sort of mood the mercurial Gryffindor would be in this morning. He'd fully expected Potter to not be there after yesterday; he'd sounded so definitive about not interacting with Draco anymore.

"I'm not an Animagus, and I don't really remember the details of a person's predetermined form, but I was wondering if it gave you the ability to turn into an animal of the opposite sex?" Potter asked as soon as Draco was within earshot.

Draco tried not to dwell on how fucking bizarre Potter was as he slowly sat down at the bottom of the steps and peered up at him. He never knew what Potter was going to do or say, his emotions and moods seemed to change at the flip of a switch, and presently Potter's tone was astoundingly amiable.

He tried to ignore how unstable the man was, and instead consider the question Potter had put forth. He supposed Potter was still trying to figure out Draco's identity and confirming whether he was male or female would obviously help narrow that down.

Draco answered with a shake of his head and Potter nodded, taking the information in with a thoughtful frown.

Deciding that Potter was feeling agreeable enough not to strike out at him, he jumped up and sat on the same step.

Potter turned to face Draco, drawing his legs up as he leant back against the railing, chin casually propped on top of his knees as he watched Draco calmly curl up on the cool concrete. Draco tucked his front paws underneath his furry chest for a bit of extra warmth while he waited for Potter to make the next move.

Potter blew out a breath, eyes glued to the little cat. No glasses again today, Draco noted - and then narrowed his eyes as the very faint smell of alcohol reached his sensitive nostrils.

Ah, that's why Potter was feeling so easy-going. The man wasn't pissed but he’d definitely taken the edge off with the aid of what smelt like Ogden's Finest.

"Since you have no say in what your Animagus form is, don't you think it's ironic that you're a ginger cat?" Potter suddenly asked into the silence, brows drawn down in a speculative frown. "Ironic that your fur reminds me of the very distinctive colouring of a family who were wiped out in the space of one night." He paused and then added, "and one of my closest friends owned a ginger cat while we were growing up. She's dead now too. The friend, not the cat. I guess the cat is long dead as well though."

Draco's breath caught and held as he stared back at him in shock.

"At first I thought you'd come round just to be cruel," Potter continued in the same calm, expressionless voice, "but now I'm starting to think it's just a horrible coincidence."

Draco had never thought of that; had never even considered that his appearance might be a reminder of the Weasley clan. It seemed like a bit of a stretch - but perhaps not for a person who wasn't dealing with their grief in any sort of healthy way.

Draco had a vague memory of Granger owning an ugly ginger cat at Hogwarts - insulting as that comparison may be - so that must be who Potter was referring to. Despite the fact that Potter was slightly plastered, Draco noticed that he quite deliberately didn't use any names.

It was fortunate that Draco couldn't speak because he honestly didn't know what to say.

Potter offered a small, sad smile that peeked out just above the tops of his knees. "I even wondered at one point if…" he started and then stopped, eyes tightening with a sorrow so palpable that it made Draco's chest hurt to see it. "Are you a psychiatrist?" Potter suddenly asked roughly, changing the subject.

He was obviously struggling to hold his whisky-loosened tongue.

Draco happily went along with ignoring Potter's half-formed first question. Whatever sudden thought had caused Potter to look like _that,_ Draco really did not want to deal with.

He had no idea what a psychiatrist was though so he just stared blankly back at him.

Potter cracked a smile, though it was brittle around the edges. "Ah, so you're not Muggle-born." He tapped the side of his temple knowingly. "You forget that you're dealing with a top Auror here; I know how to interrogate uncommunicative suspects like yourself cat."

Draco would've found this chatty Potter a welcome change but he knew it wasn't natural or genuine, and he knew it wasn't going to last. In fact, Potter would probably be quite cross about this entire conversation in a few hours.

"So you're a pureblood male who went to Hogwarts, who is kind-hearted but also very feisty," Potter surmised.

Draco was impressed; Potter was nearly spot-on - except for the kind-hearted part. Draco knew he wasn't _truly_ kind-hearted; he was too sarcastic and much too candid to be considered 'kind.'

Potter licked his dry lips, watching him. "You're too bold to be a Hufflepuff and too cheeky to be a Ravenclaw, so I'm guessing you were sorted Gryffindor," he reasoned next. "But perhaps in a different year. I don't know how to tell a cat's age by its appearance but I don't think anyone in my year has your rather _distinctive_ personality."

Draco recoiled in horror; Potter thought he was a kind-hearted Gryffindor!?

The prejudiced twat hadn't even _considered_ Slytherin.

"Besides, I spoke to all of them at-" Potter stopped and bit his lip, as though physically having to restrain himself from continuing. That familiar guarded expression slipped into place as Potter turned to stare out at the street.

Disappointment filled Draco as he watched Potter's gaze shutter and turn distantly introspective. He assumed that that was it for the day's conversation, but then, shockingly, Potter began to speak again; the words coming out uncertain and slow, as though being dragged out of him against his will. If Draco hadn't already detected the scent of whisky, he'd almost have thought that Potter'd been dosed with Veritaserum.

"They were so awkward and careful around me," Potter said matter-of-factly, staring unseeing into the empty street, and Draco assumed he was referring to his Gryffindor mates. "They didn't know what to say." Potter paused and frowned. "They just kept saying that they were sorry, but what were they sorry for? It wasn't _their_ fault."

Potter paused and Draco held his breath, waiting to see if he would go on.

"I kept returning their owls unopened; they're all so busy with their careers and growing families, they couldn't…" he trailed off with a shrug. "They didn't understand."

Potter suddenly turned towards him, gaze becoming intense, and Draco had to stop himself from squirming under the scrutiny.

" _They_ would never go to such lengths to talk to me after I'd made it quite clear that I wanted to be left alone, even when…" he paused and swallowed, "even when perhaps I shouldn't be."

Draco was glad to be in his Animagus form otherwise the flush of embarrassment would've been quite clear on his face. Potter was making Draco's constant visits sound much more admirable than they were. It didn't sit well with him, mostly because if Potter knew who he was _really_ speaking to, he would quite quickly retract the sentiment.

"Why is that?" Potter tilted his head to one side, frowning down at the small cat. "Why put in all this effort? What's in it for you if you're not from _The Prophet_ and you're not trying to get me to return to the Ministry?"

Draco couldn't answer that question; if he so much as hinted at the fact that he _owed_ Potter then the other man would quickly work out who he was. Probably. Maybe lots of people felt as though they owed Harry Potter something after the war.

He didn't want to take that chance though; the thought of Potter figuring it out was so unbelievably uncomfortable and awkward that it didn't bear thinking about. Draco had been in Potter's flat, had sat on his furniture - he'd fucking _fed_ Draco, for Salazer's sake.

So Draco just stared demurely back at him, fervently hoping that Potter would simply move on.

Eventually Potter sighed and dropped his chin back onto his knees, looking tired and defeated as he stared at the worn toes of his trainers. "You're ruining everything," he stated quietly, reluctantly, glancing back up at Draco and pinning him with the sorrow and self-loathing in his green eyes.

Potter seemed to be waging an internal battle as he remained pensive and silent, staring broodingly at Draco before finally speaking again. "I won't be outside tomorrow morning, so don't bother coming round. And you're not coming inside either. It's time for you to get your own life."

Draco stiffened but knew the words were _meant_ to sting. Potter was trying to push him away; which probably meant that Draco was making progress.

Except that Potter had resorted to drinking, which, quite frankly, didn't sound promising at all.

Perhaps Draco was just making everything worse. He didn't really know _what_ he was doing.

A hot curl of frustration twisted in his gut as he sat up and stared at Potter, wishing that he could bloody say something. He thought about biting the daft prick again but held back; knowing that Potter would probably be expecting it.

"Why don't you just transform?" Potter suggested spitefully, watching him with a dark look in his eyes. He was clearly trying to anger Draco to the point where he’d leave and not want to come back. "There's no point in hiding, and I'm sure you have loads to say to me."

Draco glared, his temper rising to the bait, but he knew that no matter how much he craved the cruel satisfaction of seeing Potter's expression if he were to suddenly transform, he simply wasn't brave enough to go through with it.

Which only served to fuel his irritation.

A little growl escaped his throat and he knew he should leave before he did something he would later regret.

He had vowed that he would help Potter and he was going to do just that if it fucking killed him. The fact that it would be one of the few truly unselfish acts in his life - and the fact that he knew his mother would've approved - gave him all the motivation he needed to turn away from Potter's derisive gaze.

He calmly walked down the steps and started off up the footpath, irritation replaced by pride at managing to take the high road for once. He would have to add this to his growing list of honourable achievements.

Fuck, maybe he _was_ turning into a kind-hearted Gryffindor.

He gracefully dodged a woman with a pram and kept walking, waiting until he was out of sight at the end of the street before glancing back.

What he saw nearly made him run straight back: Potter was sitting with his head in his hands, fingers deep in his unruly hair, looking as though he were pulling on the strands.

Draco knew he needed to take things to the next level, that Potter needed help before he completely self-destructed. The fact that Potter was talking to him and not simply exploding and chasing him off was not enough anymore, the man's behaviour was such a cry for help: the self-isolation, the mood swings, and now the drinking…

Draco's grey eyes hardened; Potter had revealed that his house-mates had given up on him. He'd alluded to the fact that they hadn't wanted to _bother_ him, but what the fuck were they thinking? They knew Potter had no family of his own, that every single person he'd considered family was now dead - and they didn't think that warranted an intervention or some concern on their part?

Potter hadn't considered the possibility that the kind-hearted cat could've been a Slytherin because Potter thought all Slytherins were self-centred prats, but a Slytherin _never_ would've turned his or her back on a housemate like that. Slytherins cared deeply for their friends but also knew when to not pander to foolhardy emotions and decisions. They weren't afraid to call a friend daft if what they were doing was detrimental to their health and happiness.

He shook his head as he slowly turned away and began the journey back home to Wiltshire.

He would have to come up with a new plan before returning the next morning; something that would _really_ snapthe Chosen One out of his despair.


	8. Chapter 8

No matter how much he'd been expecting it, Draco couldn't help but feel disappointed when he saw the empty space between the two white pillars at the top of the steps the next morning. He must've really upset Potter yesterday for him to not show up - or perhaps Potter had merely continued to drink after Draco's departure and was still sleeping it off.

He turned down one of the side alleys and made his way around to the back of Potter's white stone building. He hopped up and then carefully walked along the low garden wall which ran the length of the building, glancing into each window until he recognised Potter's contemporary wooden lamp with the yellow shade behind the glass.

He neatly jumped onto the narrow window ledge, absently wondering how he was going to break into the flat as he glanced inside, looking for Potter.

Draco froze, staring at the scene in front of him, trying to comprehend what he was seeing: Potter lying face down on the floor with a knife beside him and vivid red in contrast to the pale cream carpet next to his hand.

 _Fuck_.

Without a second thought, Draco jumped back down behind the garden wall and quickly transformed into his human self. Still in a crouch, and heart hammering in his chest, he spun around and withdrew his wand, hurriedly Vanishing the glass from Potter's window above him; thanking Merlin that the idiot hadn't put any protection wards up around his flat. He shoved his wand back into his trousers and then quickly pulled himself up onto the low window ledge.

He cursed under his breath as he banged his elbow while climbing in through the empty window frame and then ran over to Potter's unmoving body sprawled out on the floor.

"Potter!" he cried, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him over. "Potter!"

The pale Gryffindor moaned and his eyelids fluttered.

Draco quickly looked him over, gaze darting to Potter's wrists, expecting to see either one or both of them slashed open and bleeding profusely; instead, all he saw was pale, unblemished skin. He looked to Potter's torso next, but again didn't see anything that would explain the blood on the carpet.

What the fuck had Potter done to himself?

"Malfoy…?"

Draco's gaze flicked back to Potter's face to meet his bewildered stare as he blinked blearily up at him.

Draco turned away so that he could grab the knife and keep it away from Potter, not knowing what sort of frame of mind the other man was in. He might very well try to harm himself again.

Draco paused with his hand halfway towards the knife, suddenly taking notice of the empty glass and fallen crockery next to it. His gaze slid over to the pool of blood which suddenly looked… not quite right.

_Oh fuck._

A very faint snort of laughter pulled his attention back to Potter's face.

"Did you think I'd killed myself with a butter knife?"

Draco's grey eyes flicked back to the knife and then to the pool of blood - which turned out to be blobs of what looked like strawberry jam, if the piece of toast on the floor nearby was any indication.

_Oh buggery fucking fuck._

Draco turned back to Potter, cheeks heating as dreadful realisation set in. "But… you were lying face down on the floor. What the fuck were you doing?" he asked, tone quickly turning from mortified to cross.

Potter swallowed and flashed a weak smile. "I think I fainted. Probably haven't eaten enough."

Draco glared as he stood up and took a step back, hands balling into fists. "You… you're such a… a…"

Potter winced as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Could you perhaps insult me later? My head hurts, and I really should eat something before I pass out again."

Draco clamped his lips together in a thin line and crossed his arms over his chest. Well, _he_ certainly wasn't going to help the git; Potter could just get up and make his own snack.

Then another thought suddenly occurred to him and his stony expression melted into uncertainty.

"Why aren't you surprised to see me?"

Potter slowly sat up and took a deep breath, looking as though he was trying to stop the room from spinning around him.

Draco sighed and, with a roll of his eyes, reluctantly stepped in to offer his hand.

He nearly retracted it again when Potter merely stared at it for a moment, but then he slowly raised his right hand and slid it into Draco's.

Draco pulled him to his feet where he wobbled for a few seconds, and then Draco walked him the two steps over to the sofa and pushed him down onto the cushions none-too-gently.

Potter didn't comment on the rough treatment; his head dropped back against the sofa and he closed his eyes, expression pinched and wan.

Draco turned away after a moment and withdrew his wand. With a flick of the wrist, he Vanished the mess on the carpet, ensuring that the jam stain was completely removed and that the water which had spilled from the glass had been sufficiently dried.

He turned back to Potter to see the man watching him, his bloodshot eyes making the green of his irises even more startlingly emerald than usual.

"Answer my question Potter and I'll bring you something to eat," he eventually offered when it appeared as though Potter wasn't going to say anything. He felt remarkably composed for being suddenly confronted with such an awkward situation.

Potter looked exhausted but his mouth twitched minutely. "I _am_ surprised to see you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You're not acting like it."

"I suppose I should clarify that I'm surprised to see _you_ and not your furry alter ego," Potter replied, brows rising, daring him to dispute it.

 _Fuck Potter and his smug, condescending attitude,_ Draco thought viciously, hand clenching around his wand.

"How long have you known?" he grit out between clenched teeth, knowing his cheeks were colouring with obvious discomfiture.

Potter opened his mouth and then promptly shut it again. He swallowed, looking distinctly ill, and Draco let out a huff of irritation.

"You're avoiding my question on purpose," he snapped peevishly, but turned and walked into the kitchen anyway. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered under his breath as he collected some bread and put it in the toaster before roughly grabbing a container of orange juice and pouring a glass.

Once he'd spread two pieces of toast with butter and jam, he brought everything over and banged it down on the coffee table in front of Potter, some of the orange juice spilling out over the edge and onto the glass table-top.

"Thank you," Potter said in response, ignoring Draco's antagonistic behaviour and sounding surprisingly sincere. He picked up a piece of toast and then paused with it halfway to his mouth. "You can sit down."

Draco decided that sitting awkwardly was a vast improvement to standing awkwardly, so he took a seat on the opposite sofa and stiffly clasped his hands together in his lap.

Potter munched on his toast and took a sip of orange juice before answering Draco's question.

"I didn't really know it was you for certain, but… yesterday?" he said, holding the tall glass of juice in both hands. He suddenly smirked. "I only thought of it because you were so appalled at being called a Gryffindor."

Draco inwardly cursed himself; if Potter could read his reactions while he was in his cat form then he was clearly losing his touch.

"That’s when I guessed that you must’ve been a Slytherin, didn't take long after that to wonder if it was you Malfoy," Potter continued with a shrug before taking another sip of juice. "This is a tedious way to repay the life debt though don't you think?"

"I thought you'd be… more furious than this," Draco replied truthfully, neatly side-stepping the life debt question.

"At the breaking and entering or the fact that I was unaware of who you were all this time?" Potter answered evenly.

"Both."

Potter shrugged again, looking a little less ashen-faced as he reached for the second piece of toast. "I'm just relieved that you're not a member of the press."

"What is your obsession with the media?" Draco exclaimed before he could stop himself.

Potter glared, looking a little less fragile now and a little more like the hostile man that sat out on the steps every day. "You would fucking hate them too if you'd lived my life."

Draco wanted to mention that at least the media considered him the sweetheart of the wizarding world and that he wasn't written about in quite the same manner as the Malfoys had been.

Potter would just say that they’d deserved it though. And he wouldn't be wrong.

"So you'd rather it was me?" Draco replied with a sceptically arched brow.

"Now that I know you're not a complete cunt, yeah, I'd rather it was you."

Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Such a glowing endorsement."

Potter grinned and saluted him with his glass of juice.

Draco snorted and shook his head, marvelling at how strange it was to be having a somewhat civil conversation with Potter.

"Did you _really_ think I'd killed myself?" Potter suddenly asked, looking amused despite the grim subject.

Draco frowned; Potter's amusement at his expense rankled. It always had.

"Well you're hardly a poster boy for mental health and happiness these days," he replied bluntly.

Potter scowled, the gleam of laughter fading from his eyes. "If I _was_ suicidal, don't you think I would've done it before now? Why the fuck would I have waited half a year?"

So much for their truce.

"I don't pretend to understand the inner workings of your warped mind Potter," Draco snapped back, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh; cursing his juvenile response. They were just a reflex when it came to Potter. He deliberately smoothed his expression and tried again. "You fainted because you haven't cared enough to eat or look after yourself properly, so it's not a huge leap to think that something dire had happened."

Potter narrowed his eyes but took a bite of toast in lieu of replying. "Hmm," he hummed, watching Draco as he chewed. "Well, you saved me from the dreaded butter knife," he said coolly once he'd swallowed. "So I'd say we're even; debt cancelled. You can return to your inconsequential existence now."

Draco clenched his jaw and managed to swallow his immediate response this time.

He reminded himself that Potter had deliberately pushed away his surviving friends and that helping the stubborn git was never going to be easy or straightforward. Especially now that Potter knew Draco's true identity.

At least he could actually _speak_ to the thickhead now. He didn't know if that made it better or worse though, given their history.

He took a steadying breath before responding.

"Despite the fact that my identity is no longer a secret, you still need help Potter, and I… am determined to provide it," he said inelegantly, but with resolve.

Potter's brows rose; seemingly astounded by Draco's fortitude.

"But… why?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "You hate me, and I'm only going to continue to be an arse to you. It's not worth it Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it again, contemplating the question as he looked at Potter. Potter's expression was the most unguarded and honest he'd seen thus far. Potter truly believed that he wasn't worth the bother to anyone. Either that or he didn't think it was actually _possible_ to help him.

Draco had so many questions for the man; such as, why was he acting like this? When was Potter planning on joining the living again? _Was_ he planning to ever move on and resume his life again? If not, why _not_ suicide?

Draco had always detested the praise and accolades Potter'd collected during their time at Hogwarts. He couldn't stand how everyone had believed him to be some great wizarding prodigy, who was powerful and selfless, who made choices that were _truly_ good…

It had taken Draco a long time to come to terms with this, but where would they all be if he _hadn't_ been like that? What if Harry Potter hadn't been a hero in every sense of the word?

They'd all be fucked, that's what.

Draco rose and smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from his trousers, trying not to wince when his bruised elbow gave a painful twinge.

He looked at Potter with an even gaze. "I'll decide what is and what is not worth my time Potter. See you tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, he tipped his head and then turned and made his way to the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco calmly sliced the Fluxweed plant down the centre and then proceeded to cut it into perfectly even slivers on top of the slab of black granite he used for preparing ingredients. He kept his focus on the task at hand, gaze pinned to the small plant as he prepared it for the simmering cauldron at his elbow, his mind carefully working through the steps required to finish off this experimental batch of Polyjuice.

He was attempting to come up with a formula that was just as effective as traditional Polyjuice but took less time to prepare. It was just a matter of tweaking a few ingredients; the Fluxweed he'd let mature a little longer and then hand-picked last night from his garden under the full moon.

Draco gently swept the prepared pieces into the cauldron and allowed them to sink to the bottom before carefully stirring the mixture anti-clockwise six times. He laid the glass stirring rod aside and then adjusted the flame under the iron cauldron before stepping back, observing the mixture to confirm that the consistency and colour were flawless.

He then removed his thick, black apron and hung it on the peg by the door before walking over to the small desk at the other end of the lab. Draco sat down and opened his journal, plucking the quill from its inkstand and tapping the tip to rid it of extra ink before beginning to neatly scrawl his notes out on the page titled 'Polyjuice: Trial Three.'

After documenting everything he'd done that morning in great detail, Draco dropped the quill back into its pot and leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing his aching neck. He'd been leaning over his potions table all morning and was definitely due for a break.

He glanced over at the little ornamental clock on his desk to check the time. The clock was a gift which Pansy had given to him just before moving to Salzburg with her husband. It was quite a clever little thing; with all sorts of timers and dials - made especially with potion masters in mind. The ornate clock was black, silver, and green, and had a serpent coiled around it with glittery black eyes; the head of the snake was perched on top of the clock face and appeared to keep a close eye on the occupants of the room. It was exquisite and Slytherin-themed, and had probably cost quite a few galleons, but that had always been Pansy's way of showing affection for her friends; lavish gifts that expressed the words she never could utter aloud.

Draco smiled fondly as he gazed at it, wondering if he should perhaps reach out to Pansy and visit her in Austria next spring. It'd been so long since he'd seen her in person; they'd only exchanged the odd owl over the years to keep up to date on each other's news.

Unfortunately, Draco's news had always been a bit on the thin side as nothing very note-worthy happened to him, except perhaps the odd unusual potions order. What Pansy _really_ wanted to hear about was juicy gossip regarding his love life, which was sadly even more tedious than the stories about his potions business.

Draco saw that it was nearly time to leave for his visit with Potter and pushed himself out of his chair with a quiet sigh of resignation.

He checked the Polyjuice one last time before casting a strong stasis charm and exiting the lab. As he washed his hands, he idly wondered what sort of greeting he would be receiving from the Boy-Who-Lived that day.

Truth be told, he was now rather hesitant about the whole thing. His original plan was never meant to evolve into this: Potter knowing his true identity. Now that he wasn't in disguise, his courage was quickly retreating and leaving him to fend for himself - which was never a good thing.

Draco decided to stop in at a Muggle café on his way to Potter's flat to pick up morning tea as a peace offering, hoping it would at least get him through the door in the case that Potter was feeling particularly surly.

He should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

Potter was already sitting outside on the steps when he turned onto his street. For some reason he'd been expecting Potter to hide away in his flat in order to avoid further confrontation.

Leave it to Potter to always be stubbornly audacious in every facet in his life.

Draco frowned as he walked towards him, feeling very put out because he hadn't brought any eating utensils with him, so now he would just be standing there with his cup tray and paper bag full of food that they couldn't actually eat unless he asked Potter if he could come into his home - and he didn't think that question would be well received at this point in time.

Potter slowly stood and leaned one hip against the railing as he watched Draco approach.

"You don't give up do you Malfoy?"

Draco took a breath; Potter's curt tone already grating on him.

"Seems that way Potter," he replied calmly.

Green eyes dropped to the bag in his hand and narrowed. "What's that?"

" _That_ ," Draco replied, lifting the white carrier bag slightly, "is breakfast."

Ignoring Potter, he walked over and sat on the second step, trying not to grimace as his pale trousers came into contact with the filthy, cold concrete.

He carefully placed the cup tray down on the step next to him and then set the bag down at his feet and opened it. He lifted the two white polystyrene boxes out and put one on the step next to him and the other he flipped open on his knees.

"I brought enough for two," he said casually, swallowing his ire with difficulty as he kept his gaze riveted to his food. He scowled as he stared at the Eggs Benedict smothered in hollandaise sauce; how on earth was he going to eat this without a fork? Why couldn't he have just brought scones or something else a little less messy?

He suddenly realised that Potter had been silent for an abnormally long time. He glanced up to see the man standing with arms crossed over his chest, staring at him expectantly.

"Yes?" Draco enquired tetchily.

"Just wanted to see you eat some first to make sure it hasn't been poisoned," Potter replied without hesitation.

"Why in Merlin's name would I poison you Potter?" Draco replied with exasperation, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes.

Potter's lips actually twitched at that and he cautiously stepped closer and lowered himself onto the top step. He reached down and plucked the other container from beside Draco and opened it.

"Smells good," Potter admitted grudgingly as he inhaled the smell of the hot breakfast.

"It would taste good too – if we had a knife and fork," Draco replied, having learnt it's often best to just admit your errors straight away.

Potter's head came up sharply as he suddenly turned to him, the tiniest hint of a smirk flickering around his mouth.

"You... didn't bring utensils?"

Draco sighed before glancing at the other man. "No, I neglected to bring some because I assumed we would be dining in your flat and not out on the steps like common street urchins."

Potter actually grinned. "You've never eaten outside?"

"Of course I have," Draco replied indignantly. "I've had many lunches out in the gardens at the Manor, but that is hardly the same as eating food off of your lap in the street."

Potter's grin didn't diminish in the slightest. "Perhaps not, but I sit out here every day and _I'm_ not worried about how it looks.”

"Well you _look_ destitute."

Potter laughed and Draco felt his annoyance slip away. Potter always had such an attractive laugh, and he hadn't heard a genuine laugh from the Gryffindor that wasn't tinged with bitterness or sarcasm for a long time.

"And we can't transfigure anything into a fork because we're in Muggle territory," Potter continued, appearing even more amused.

"No we can not," Draco agreed with a nod, glancing at his cooling breakfast with regret. He really did like Eggs Benedict.

"I guess we'll just have to use our fingers," Potter concluded with a shrug. "Like... what was it you said? Like common street urchins?”

Draco turned back to him, wrinkling his nose with distaste. "I'm not opposed to finger food Potter, but this is hardly a hamburger."

Potter blinked at him in surprise. "You know what a hamburger is?"

"I know a lot of things," Draco replied absently before turning back to his food. He knew he wasn't going to get out of this so he took a breath and dove in; sliding his fingers around the sloppy food and leaning over his tray to take a bite.

Potter emitted a snort of laughter but followed suit without further comment.

Draco hummed around the mouthful of warm egg and bread and hollandaise; it was rather good – even without a fork.

"I don't know how you bear sitting out here on these cold, uncomfortable steps every day Potter," he said after a few minutes of eating in silence. "It's horrible."

Potter shrugged, fortunately not appearing insulted by the question. "Better than sitting inside an empty flat."

"So fill it with stuff," Draco replied logically. "At the very least get yourself one of those Muggle tellies for some entertainment."

Potter turned to look at him, licking some sauce from his fingers. “Did you bring food this morning because you were concerned that I wasn't eating enough?"

Draco raised his brow at the sudden subject change. "No, delicious food is the best sort of gift I know of, so that is why I brought it. There's tea as well," he added, pointing to the two steaming cups.

"Thank you," Potter replied, sounding as though the response was automatic. Potter picked up one of the cups and gazed at it as he swirled it in his hand. "You're here because you want to... fix me, right?"

Draco cleared his throat and shifted. "I don't know that I would put it quite like that, but for arguments sake, yes."

Potter nodded thoughtfully. "So in order to do that, you want to know things about me." He turned to Draco and rested his tea on one knee. "And I want to know things about you."

"You do?" Draco set aside his tray and picked up his own cup of tea, needing a moment to ponder Potter's statement. "Why?"

"Seems only fair," Potter replied with a shrug, tone a little too casual. "You seem to be very familiar with the Muggle world, and I want to know why. I want to know where you live, where you work – _if_ you work – who your friends are now; that sort of thing." He turned and met Draco's surprised gaze. "A truth for a truth."

Ah, so that's how Potter wanted to do things.

Draco took a sip of his tea with relish, the bitterness of the Earl Grey sharp on his tongue. "Sounds fair," he finally answered with a nod, hoping he didn't sound as wary as he felt.

Potter smiled, not looking quite as shifty as he had a moment ago.

"Okay, let's go inside and talk then."

Draco stared, stunned, as Potter suddenly stood and gathered his cup and tray to head inside his building.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, dumping his empty tray into the carrier bag and holding onto his tea as he followed.

Draco wasn't sure how or why, but it suddenly felt as though Potter had the upper hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco carefully took a seat on the sofa opposite Potter, watching the other man as he played with the teabag string hanging out the side of his cup. It was the only outward sign of unease that Draco could detect; Potter's gaze was steady behind his glasses as he calmly watched Draco settle in.

Draco leaned back into the plush grey cushion and crossed his ankle over one knee, cupping his tea in both hands as he gazed back.

It almost felt like a stand-off of sorts as they each quietly considered the other, and Draco was rather relieved when Potter finally broke the expectant silence.

"So what burning question do you have for me Malfoy?" he asked impassively.

Draco found that to be a rather ambiguous request; he didn't know the terms of the conversation yet. Was he allowed to simply ask Potter about _that_ _night_? Should he _ease_ the other man into the messy, emotion-laden topics? Every question that instantly jumped to the forefront of his mind felt too intense or too awkward to put to words - especially because he and Potter were not what you would consider friends. They certainly didn't share any sort of comfortable camaraderie in which to foster heart-to-heart conversations.

Draco cleared his throat and took a sip of his warm tea as he considered how best to respond.

"Will you be living in this flat for the foreseeable future?" he finally asked.

It wasn't exactly a burning question but it was one that he was comfortable in asking at that point.

Potter exhaled and his stiff posture relaxed just a little as he absently pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yup."

Draco arched a brow at the monosyllabic answer.

"My turn," Potter quickly declared, lips curving upwards at the corners when Draco huffed in exasperation. "How do you know about Muggle things?"

"Muggle things?"

"Yeah, like hamburgers and televisions."

Draco's gaze dropped to stare at the shiny plastic lid of his cup as he nodded in understanding. "And how could I - Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater - know about such things?" he replied acerbically.

"Well, yeah."

Draco glanced up and caught Potter shrugging, as though it was simply expected that Draco was the same prejudiced twat from school and that Potter's assumption wasn't insulting in the least.

Draco swallowed the biting retort that was on the tip of his tongue. "Perhaps because I moved into a Muggle village," he replied instead.

Potter blinked, clearly surprised. "Really? I assumed you still lived at Malfoy Manor. What made you move into a Muggle community?"

"I do believe it's _my_ question now," Draco pointed out with a smirk before taking another sip of his tea. "Do you ever leave your front doorstep?"

Potter's expression quickly turned stony. "No," he replied shortly.

Draco sighed in frustration. "Look Potter, we're going to have to give more fully formed responses or this entire exercise is meaningless."

Potter opened his mouth and then closed it again. He swallowed and nodded in agreement, reluctantly conceding Draco's point.

"No, I don't go any farther than the steps out front," he admitted tensely and then ran a restless hand through his hair as his gaze skittered around the room. "For a few reasons," he continued, clearly forcing the words out. "I don't want to run into anyone who might recognise me and ask questions, and…" Potter hesitated, frowning in concentration as his agitated gaze finally fell to his knees and stilled. "Even keeping to the Muggle world doesn't stop me from thinking that I see them everywhere; the people who died. They don't have to look like them at all, I just catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of ginger hair or someone who just fucking _walks_ like them and it brings it all back. Not that I ever _stop_ thinking about it but it's fucking painful when that happens; stabs me right in the gut." He paused and shook his head, still frowning. "It's not worth it."

Draco slowly released the breath he'd been holding. He understood _exactly_ what Potter was talking about; he couldn't count the number of times he'd caught a glimpse of pale blond hair or pretty dress robes and had thought – for one absurd moment – that it was his mother. It was completely illogical and intellectually he knew that his mother was gone, but that didn't stop him from turning his head to look, and it always wrenched his heart because it reminded him that it would never be her again.

Potter exhaled shakily and looked up. "Now tell me why you live with the Muggles."

Draco almost didn't want to continue, Potter looked emotionally drained already, but he didn't know if Potter's unpredictable emotional state would allow this to happen for a second time and he didn't want to waste the opportunity.

"After my mother passed, I didn't want to live in the Manor anymore," Draco confessed. "I didn't particularly wish to reside there after the war either but I didn't like the thought of my mother living there on her own while my father was in prison, so I stayed. When I made the decision to move, I knew I wanted to remain in the same county, so I looked at nearby villages and picked the most appealing one. It just happened to be Muggle."

"And that didn't bother you?"

Draco couldn't help but smile a little. "Yes it did, but I also thought it would be good for me."

Potter snorted, his gaze slowly losing that disconcertingly haunted look.

"So I bought a small cottage up on the hill on the outskirts of Westbury. I venture into the village and converse with the Muggles and sometimes we eat hamburgers."

Potter snorted, clearly trying to picture the scene in his head as his lips stretched into a smile. "I'd like to see that."

"You'd actually have to leave your street for that Potter," Draco pointed out.

"Perhaps I will," he replied offhandedly, surprising Draco. "Your turn."

Draco didn't want to lose the light-heartedness of the moment so he asked an easy one. "Who does your shopping for you?"

Potter set his cup down on the table and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. "Come on Malfoy, I thought you were a Muggle expert now," he replied with a smirk.

Draco frowned, wondering how on earth the two things were related.

Potter chuckled. "I order everything I need online. You do know what the internet is, right?"

Draco's expression cleared. "Ah yes, the thing that is melting Muggle brains."

Potter barked out a startled laugh. "What?"

"I overheard some older Muggles discussing it in the pub one night," Draco sniffed defensively. "They said that everyone was glued to their mobiles these days and that the internet was melting their brains."

Potter threw back his head and laughed, and damnit if Draco didn't find the git startlingly attractive in that moment.

"It's not literally melting their brains Malfoy."

"Well I did assume as much," Draco replied derisively, "but during my close observation of the Muggles in Westbury, it _did_ appear as though most of the population was addicted to those ridiculous little devices. _I_ certainly don't want any part of it."

Potter stared at him, grinning. "So do you sit there with a set of binoculars and make detailed notes on the daily habits and characteristics of the elusive Muggle?"

Draco couldn't help but smile in return. "Don't mock me Potter; I need to study their culture in order to fit in. They already think I'm odd because I live all alone at the top of the hill."

Potter's smile widened. "I knew you were single if you had all this time to spend bothering me." He cocked his head to one side, gazing at Draco with open curiosity. "No significant other in your life then Malfoy?"

Draco cleared his throat self-consciously. "No, I'm afraid not."

"No tempting Muggles in Westbury?"

Draco smirked. "Most of the men in Westbury are over the age of fifty, and that's a little too timeworn for my taste." Potter chuckled and Draco turned to glance out the window. "London is much better for that sort of thing, but I can't really be bothered to make the journey all the way out here when my home is so comfortable and quiet." He turned back to Potter. "Plus, not many of the men I meet are agreeable to moving to the country," he added with a slight shrug. "And I have no intention of moving to the city."

"I prefer the country as well," Potter agreed, sounding the tiniest bit wistful.

"Then why are you in central London?" Draco couldn't help but scoff.

Potter shrugged, expression closing off as he turned away. "It's different."

"And… different is better because it doesn't spark any memories?" Draco asked astutely.

Potter turned back to him. "I'm tired."

Draco blinked, taken-aback by what sounded like a rather abrupt dismissal. "Would you like for me to leave?" he eventually replied uncertainly.

"No, I mean I'm tired of dealing with it. _All_ of it," Potter elaborated. "I couldn't take it anymore so I did everything in my power to avoid anything familiar at all costs. So now I sit here in my strange little flat, surrounded by nothing, and pretend to be someone else."

"And that's clearly working out well for you," Draco commented with a frown.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "It's better than the alternative."

"What? Having some semblance of a life? You can't just pretend it didn't happen Potter, that's not healthy."

"But it's _better_ ," Potter said emphatically. "As soon as I left and moved here and stopped talking to people, it was better."

Draco shook his head. "Avoidance isn't an improvement. You can't just exist as this shell of a man for the rest of your life." He paused and leaned forwards. "Why didn't you just kill yourself?"

Potter's eyes widened in shock but he quickly recovered. "Don't you think I considered that?"

It was Draco's turn to be stunned as he sat back in his seat, hand unconsciously clenching around his cup.

"I should've been there too," Potter continued heatedly, as though angry with himself. "I should've stayed but my fucking job was more important than spending time with my friends and family, and now I have to live with that decision for the rest of my life." He looked at Draco, eyes burning. "God, I wish I'd stayed. Every day, I wish I hadn't left early that night."

Draco's stomach twisted as he stared back at him. "You wish you'd stayed so that you could've died along with the rest of them?"

"If I had stayed, it may have changed things.”

Draco's lips parted as it dawned on him just who he was speaking to: the unequivocal hero, the Saviour, the Chosen One. Of _course_ Potter believed that he could've saved them all – if only he'd been there to do it.

"You feel guilty," Draco said in realisation. "If you hadn't left early, you think they'd all still be alive."

"Perhaps." Potter swallowed but didn't turn away. "And if not, then I would be dead too."

"And that would be a satisfactory outcome as well?" Draco retorted scornfully. "Then why not just do it yourself?"

Potter shook his head. "Because too many people sacrificed themselves for me to be here."

Draco nearly growled in frustration. "I don't think this is quite the life your parents envisioned for you when they fucking _died_ for you."

Potter suddenly glared, glasses slipping down his nose. "And you're not exactly living the life your father imagined for you either Malfoy."

"Thank fuck for that," Draco exclaimed. "My father was a raving lunatic Potter."

"What does it matter?" Potter snapped. "I'm alive, aren't I? I didn't slit my wrists-"

"You may as well have for all the life that's fucking in you!" Draco shot back. "You hardly eat anything and you look like shite – you're a walking corpse Potter."

Potter suddenly stood, hands balled into fists. "Why do you care Malfoy?" he demanded, glaring down at him. "Is the fucking life debt _that_ important to you? Or perhaps you just want to be the one who _saves_ Harry Potter – is that it? Planning to run off to The Prophet the moment you think I'm happy and well-adjusted again?"

Draco glared, livid. He stood and put his cup down on the coffee table. Potter would never see him as anything other than the arrogant, attention-seeking prat he'd been back at Hogwarts, no matter how hard he tried to show him otherwise.

"Grow the fuck up Potter."

He turned and strode to the door, a burning anger churning in his stomach and prickling over his skin. He was furious, but he also felt degraded and embarrassed. Potter never failed to make him feel foolish and insignificant. Well, he was finished with this senseless plan of trying to help the daft prick.

He wrenched the door open, wanting to pull it right off its hinges.

"Draco, wait."

He paused and closed his eyes bracingly for a moment, one hand still on the doorknob. Despite telling himself that it would be in his best interest to keep walking, he reluctantly glanced back over his shoulder.

Potter was stood next to the coffee table, hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. "I did try to warn you that I would be an arse," he eventually offered apologetically.

Draco sighed and looked away, feeling tired. "It's fine, I'll just go-"

"The thing is," Potter hurriedly interjected, taking a step forward. "I don't want you to leave."

Draco looked up in surprise.

"Despite the fact that you're a part of that same time in my life that I'm trying to forget or ignore, or whatever the fuck it is that I'm doing, I… I like the company." Potter swallowed and for the first time in Draco's memory, the man looked lost. "All I know is that I don't want you to stop visiting."

Draco could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stared back at him. Despite feeling utterly useless, perhaps his plan _wasn't_  as futile as he thought.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"All right, Harry," he said slowly, deliberately. "If you would like to meet again tomorrow, I will be at The Leaky at half twelve."

With that, he turned to leave, but not before seeing the flash of panic on Potter's face.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco's gaze flicked to the old cuckoo clock fixed to the wall behind the bar for what felt like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

Potter was late.

Draco picked up his pint of ale and took a small sip, carefully licking the froth from his lips as he set the glass back down. He didn't want to drink too much on an empty stomach; conversing with Potter when he wasn't at his sharpest was definitely ill advised.

Draco frowned down at the sticky tabletop in thought. What if Potter didn't show? He knew when he'd issued the invitation that it was a big step for the Gryffindor - perhaps _too_ big a step.

He could've eased Potter into leaving that bloody doorstep by joining him for a simple walk to the end of the street and back again, but Draco had issued the invitation before he'd had the chance to think it through properly and now it was too late to retract it.

Another glance at the clock and Potter was now officially fifteen minutes late.

Draco bit his bottom lip as he gazed thoughtfully into his drink. He kept thinking of Potter as the strong, unwavering hero and had to keep reminding himself that he was currently that fragile human being who sat shut up in his empty flat day after day.

Taking that into consideration, he probably should've offered to meet Potter at his flat and then walked over together. Perhaps that would have made it easier on him, or at least attainable.

He absently swiped his hair out of his eyes as he continued to frown at the pale froth slowly disappearing into his drink. Should he just return home? Or should he go to Potter's flat and _force_ the Chosen One outside into the big, bad world?

Draco sighed. Surprisingly, neither option sounded appealing; he wasn't ready to return to his isolated home in the country just yet. It seemed that while Potter was unconsciously becoming accustomed to having a bit of companionship every day, so was Draco.

That particular revelation called for a drink. He picked up his glass and skipped the tastefully measured sip this time.

"Malfoy."

Draco slowly lowered his glass and raised his gaze to the portly gentleman sneering down at him from beside his table. "Yes?" Draco replied coolly.

The man had glassy brown eyes, a ruddy nose, and cheeks which were clearly flushed from copious amounts of alcohol. He glowered at Draco, clearly not fond of Draco's condescending tone.

"My cousin is dead because of you," he stated accusingly.

Draco sat back in his seat and arched a brow. This wasn't the first time someone had accused him of murdering their family members, uncaring of how appalling an accusation that was to make so flippantly.

"Me specifically?" Draco replied. "I very much doubt that. You must be thinking of my father."

The man's eyes widened furiously. "Don't take that tone with me Death Eater!" he snapped, spit flying from his mouth.

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose a moment. "What is it you hoped to accomplish by coming over here?" he finally enquired wearily as he looked up. It'd been a while since he'd been confronted in person and he'd forgotten how trying it was. Normally he was a bit more cautious when challenged but they were in a public space and this man looked harmless enough; just drunk and angry and looking for an outlet. Unfortunately Draco ended up being a lot of people's emotional outlets.

"Oi! Show some respect Malfoy."

Draco turned to his left and quickly realised that he now had the attention of the two gentlemen the next table over. They'd clearly been listening to their conversation and the tall - rather well muscled one - was now on his feet, glaring down at him with loathing.

Draco swallowed and thought perhaps it would be best if he simply left the situation. These mob mentality things had a habit of getting out of hand rather quickly – much to Draco's detriment.

"I simply wished to know what it was he wanted from me," Draco replied carefully.

"Your head on a pike!" the portly man exclaimed heatedly.

"And why, may I ask?" Draco asked, polite despite the hot flicker of anger in his chest.

"You know what you did Malfoy!"

"Clearly not or I would not be asking," Draco couldn't help replying sharply.

The muscled man's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he leaned in closer. "Everyone knows you founded the Pureblood Society Malfoy."

"And I just _happened_ to escape the Ministry's wrath or even an investigation?"

"Ministry's corrupt," the third man suddenly interjected, angling in his seat to stare at Draco, his wary expression making him appear as though he half expected Draco to suddenly pull his wand out and Avada Kedavra him.

"That's right." The portly man nodded emphatically in agreement. "They pardoned you after the war and it would've been too embarrassing for them to admit that they'd made a mistake, so they just ignored the evidence. They should never have let you walk free Malfoy, you're as rotten as your father, and if the Aurors don't make you pay for what you've done to all those innocent people then someone else will!”

"Sorry I'm late Draco."

Draco nearly jumped in his seat when a breathless but friendly voice cut through the mounting tension.

Potter was standing behind the two men, removing his coat and pasting a smile on his face that didn't fool Draco for a second.

Potter knew exactly what he'd interrupted.

Draco was not ashamed to admit that he was flooded with relief – for both the rescue and for the fact that Potter had apparently managed to overcome his fear of leaving the flat after all.

"H-Harry Potter?" the stout man with the red face stammered in shock as he gawped openly at him.

"Yes, excuse me." Potter slid in-between the two men and dropped into the seat opposite Draco, folding his coat over the chair back and then smiling up at the two strangers as he loosened his scarf. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I'm just meeting Draco for lunch. You can continue your conversation, I don't mind."

It was a challenge and a threat and Draco was momentarily speechless. He couldn't believe he was staring at the same broken man he’d become accustomed to over the past few weeks. Potter was still painfully thin but the dark circles under his eyes had lessened noticeably and his green eyes were sparkling dangerously behind his glasses as he stared steadily back at the two men.

The tall muscled one quickly returned to his seat at the next table with a muttered "excuse me," leaving the portly man to fend for himself.

"Er… no, that's… that's all right, I'll… I'll just go," he stuttered, cheeks reddening even further. "Nice to meet you Mister Potter. Um, goodbye."

Draco snorted as he watched him turn and walk right out the door of The Leaky, pint still in hand no less.

He turned back to Potter and immediately spotted the tightness in the other man's expression.

"How about we lunch somewhere else?" he suggested, cognizant of the two men still seated at Potter's back and most likely listening to every word. "Somewhere Muggle perhaps?"

Potter nodded, not bothering to hide his relief.

Draco left his half-finished drink and they gathered their coats and left the dimly-lit pub, a few people staring at the Boy-Who-Lived in startled recognition but thankfully not approaching.

They made it out onto the footpath without further incident and Draco began to lead the way to a nearby Muggle café he often frequented when in the city. He suspected the tranquil environment would be beneficial for Potter and his rattled nerves.

"My hero," Draco quipped with a smirk, hoping to distract Potter as they walked.

Potter's pinched expression relaxed a little as he glanced over. "Does that happen often?" he asked, throwing Draco off-balance by the concern in his eyes.

"Yes," he answered bluntly. "Which is why I rarely visit Diagon Alley."

Potter frowned. "Do they ever get physical? Have you reported it?"

"They try, and no Potter, be serious."

"What?" Potter's frown deepened.

Draco shook his head and pointed to the wooden sign hanging above the café ahead of them, grateful for the diversion as he indicated to Potter that this was their destination.

He opened the door and Potter walked in ahead of him, striding purposely to the very rear of the serene café. The décor was all very natural, with lots of wood, potted plants, and large canvases painted with waterfalls and rainforests.

"Why don't you report it?" Potter immediately asked again the second they sat down.

Draco should've known Potter wouldn't let it go.

"Because Potter," he said as though speaking to a child, "the Ministry is not concerned with the welfare and happiness of the Death Eaters which are freely living on borrowed time."

"So they just dismissed you? Or are you just _assuming_ that that's how they'll treat you?" Potter countered. "And its Harry," he added as an afterthought, fiddling with his striped scarf as his gaze jumped around the café with unease.

"My assumptions are often correct. _Harry_." The name felt very odd on his tongue. "And it's rarely an issue as I tend to avoid magical areas altogether."

"Avoidance is not a solution," Potter responded, restless gaze finally landing on Draco as he threw Draco's words of wisdom back at him with a smirk.

Draco couldn't help but smile and tip his head in acknowledgment.

Potter grinned, looking more at ease, and picked up the menu at his elbow.

Draco did the same, trying not to be alarmed by the warm rush of affection which was making itself known more and more around his old nemesis. It was easy to forget Potter's affable charm and natural charisma when he was the depressed, angry human being that sat on the street day after day. _That_ Potter was easy to find unappealing.

But this Potter, swooping in with his easy smile and acts of heroism, was very inconvenient and much harder to ignore.

They put in their orders and Draco was quickly brought his cappuccino and Potter his freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Trying to cut out the caffeine," Potter said in explanation as he swirled the paper straw in his cup. "I'm not sleeping well as it is."

Draco was impressed by his openness. "A wise idea," he replied in approval. "And the alcohol?"

Potter's gaze flicked up sharply, looking cross for a moment, but it passed just as swiftly. "That too," was all he said.

"I see you also managed to dress appropriately today," Draco commented lightly. Potter was taking a big enough step already just by being there and Draco didn't wish to push the man any further than was strictly necessary. There was no need to delve into the messy, emotional stuff right then.

Potter snorted and glanced down at his jeans and black jumper. "I miss my joggers."

"I do not," Draco answered disdainfully. He took a sip of his cappuccino and set it back down, wrapping his hands around the white porcelain and enjoying the warmth against his chilled skin.

"So, how convinced were you that I was standing you up?" Potter asked before taking a sip of his juice.

"One hundred percent," Draco replied dryly.

Potter smiled in response but his green eyes were tinged with sadness for some inexplicable reason. Another blink and it was gone.

"Good thing I found you when I did," Potter said, sounding rather smug about it.

"Yes well, don't let it go to your head Potter," Draco replied self-deprecating.

"Harry," Potter reminded automatically.

"Harry." Draco could feel his cheeks heating and he quickly scrambled for something else to say. "I've never told you the story of how I found you that first morning, have I?"

Potter shook his head, looking interested as he took another sip of juice.

Draco paused as their food arrived and was set down in front of them with a friendly smile. Draco pulled his toasted sandwich towards him, inhaling the wonderful aroma of cranberry sour-dough bread and chicken and pesto with a contented sigh. He so loved the toasted sandwiches here; they all came with this ingenious little cup of dill-flavoured dipping sauce.

He had urged Potter to order the same and the man had complied without question. He watched with satisfaction as Potter plunged his toastie into the dipping sauce and took a bite.

"So one of my suppliers had mistakenly posted my order to Slug and Jiggers instead of to Westbury-" Draco eventually carried on with his story.

"Suppliers?" Potter interrupted with a puzzled frown. "What is it you do?"

Draco blinked; that's right, he'd never mentioned his potions business to Potter. It felt odd that he'd been visiting Potter for such a long period of time without him really knowing much about Draco's personal life.

"Yes, I prepare and sell potions," he clarified, feeling cautious for reasons he couldn't explain. He wasn't doing anything illegal, and Potter was no longer Head Auror, but he still felt hesitant about divulging information to the other man nonetheless. It felt like Potter would most certainly suspect him of some ulterior motive or evil plot. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

"Out of your home?"

Draco swallowed and nodded, placated by Potter's unquestioning tone; he wasn't probing in order to condemn Draco, he was merely interested.

"So… then you went to Diagon Alley?" Potter prompted before taking another bite of his toastie.

"Yes, that's right," Draco replied, shaking himself and attempting to regain the thread of the conversation. "I went to collect my parcel and some men followed me out of the shop."

Potter's expression darkened and Draco was quite certain that if Potter hadn't been mid-chew, he would've chastised Draco for not reporting it again. He was slightly ashamed to admit - even to himself - that he quite enjoyed Potter's protective side. When it was directed at him that was.

He firmly shook off the unwanted images of Fiendfyre and speeding broomsticks which that thought abruptly conjured.

"I lost them between the shop and The Leaky's rear courtyard," Draco continued, "but they'd prepared in advance and locked the door so that I was trapped there. When I heard them approaching I quickly transformed into my cat form and jumped the fence, then made a mad dash up the street."

"Right to my doorstep," Potter deduced with one of his lop-sided half-smiles. "What are the chances?"

Draco took a bite of his sandwich and nodded, wondering the same thing.

 _Fate_ , was on the tip of his tongue but it sounded too romantic a notion to voice out loud. He didn't even mean it in that context, but he knew he still wouldn't be able to say it without blushing. And Merlin knew what Potter would construe from that response.

They continued to eat their sandwiches in comfortable silence, Draco furtively watching Potter for any sign of discomfort or of wanting to bolt. He seemed fairly relaxed for the most part, just tired.

The worst thing was that Draco could actually see in Potter's expression when an unwanted memory was triggered because Potter's – _Harry's_ – gaze would suddenly turn distracted or distressed, and then in the next instant, it would be gone again.

He supposed there was nothing to be done for that except time.

He suddenly realised that Potter had finished eating and was watching him. Draco immediately pretended to tidy up his empty plate and carefully folded his napkin on top of the small pile of crumbs.

"I don't think I've thanked you for all this," Potter suddenly said, quietly intense. "It may not seem like it, but I… I appreciate what you've done for me Malfoy. What you're _still_ doing for me."

Draco could only stare at him in silence for a moment. "Draco," he eventually reminded after unsticking his throat, not sure what else to say.

"Draco." Harry's smile was slightly unsteady and Draco was suddenly terrified that the Gryffindor was about to cry. He'd never been able to cope with someone weeping in front of him; it made him irritable and uncomfortable. "So, what's next?" Harry asked, absently pulling on a wayward lock of hair just above his ear.

"Next?" Draco replied in confusion.

"Yes, in my prescribed therapy."

Draco smiled, relieved that Harry wasn't about to burst into tears. "I have no fucking idea."

Harry laughed as he removed his hand from his hair and instead fished out an ice cube from his empty glass to crunch on.

Draco suddenly realised that Harry was displaying some of that fidgety Potter behaviour that had been sadly lacking thus far. Draco wondered how long before he found the constant motion irritating again.

"I'd like to see your house and your Muggles," Harry suggested offhandedly.

Draco's eyes widened in alarm and he had the strangest feeling that he was suddenly in over his head with all this Potter nonsense; like this plan was a speeding train which he could no longer control or even stop if he wanted to. All he'd wanted to do was set Potter back on the road to a normal life, not take him by the hand all the way to the finish line. Mostly because he was no longer sure he'd be able to let go once they'd crossed it.

"Why in Merlin's name would you want to see that?" Draco finally asked, sincerely baffled.

Harry shrugged as he swirled the remaining ice in his glass. "I told you, I want to know things about you too. It's only fair."

Draco wasn't sure why the thought of having Harry in his home unsettled him so. He should be encouraging of this behaviour; it was a remarkable step for Harry to want to keep leaving the safety of his flat.

It could be, for today at least, that Harry was simply feeling euphoric over the distraction from the pain he was usually mired in, but Draco had to admit that it was still a move in the right direction, regardless of the reason.

"I lead a very dull and uninteresting life…" Draco warned, stalling for time.

Harry's brow rose to his hairline. "Compared to sitting on a doorstep in front of an empty flat day after day?" he countered.

Draco sighed, knowing he had to concede. "Yes, all right Potter, you may come see my exciting country home and my pet Muggles."

Harry grinned. "It's a date."

Potter's careless words and bright smile caused a cascade of apprehension to slither down Draco's spine. He immediately wanted to withdraw his agreement but it was too late, he would look like a prick if he called the whole thing off now.

He knew seeing Harry in his home was going to do funny things to him and he only hoped he could hide it well enough to avoid utter humiliation.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco adjusted the temperature of the oven to ensure the bubbling ceramic dish stayed hot, though not so hot that it would burn the flaky top of the steak and kidney pie within. He took a step back and surveyed his small kitchen with a critical eye. It wasn't what most people would associate with a Malfoy: a small, cosy space with lots of crockery on the shelves and pretty scenic paintings on the walls - and that was precisely why he liked it. It was neat and orderly but it was warm and homely too. He just hoped… he didn't know what he hoped. That Potter would like it? That he wouldn't laugh at Draco and suspect him of trying to be someone he's not?

With a sigh, Draco turned away and began to wipe down the counter one final time before his guest's arrival.

He was beginning to wish he'd never agreed to this; he didn't want Potter in his bloody home. What had he been thinking?

That he didn't have the ability to say no to Harry Potter, that's what, he thought ruefully.

Once he'd finished cleaning up, and starting to suspect that Potter may be one of those people who was perpetually late, the doorbell rang.

He opened the door to find Potter standing on his doorstep, dark hair plastered to his forehead and raindrops glistening on his glasses as he smiled in greeting.

The whole sight was disconcerting enough without the Gryffindor holding onto a piece of rope with a black dog attached to the other end of it.

Draco arched a brow at the sight. "Bit of a presumptuous host gift, don't you think Potter?"

Potter chuckled and looked down at the dog, which was looking between the two of them with a happy smile, tail swishing back and forth unconcernedly across the muddy flagstones.

"She followed me up the hill from the village," he explained, turning back to Draco. "Do you know her?"

Draco knelt down and flipped the tag on the worn red collar, barely avoiding a wet tongue to the cheek for his trouble. "Lucy," he read aloud, the dog's tail swishing even faster in response. He straightened up, Lucy's big brown eyes following him. "Yes, I know who she belongs to. Her owner will be at the pub this time of day."

Potter smiled and took a step back. "Lead the way then Malfoy."

Draco knew dinner would keep so he plucked his coat from off of the wall peg and shut the door.

"I like your house, by the way," Potter said as Draco fell into step beside him and they started down the hill beneath the lightly sprinkling rain.

"You've only seen the outside."

"Yes but it's a vast improvement over the last one I visited."

Draco snorted, watching as Lucy trotted ahead of Potter as though they'd been best mates for years. Typical.

"How did you get here?" Draco eventually asked as they carefully made their way over the slightly slippery cobbles and into the picturesque village below.

"I took the train and then a taxi."

Draco glanced over at the other man. "How very Muggle of you."

Potter shrugged, looking around at the local shops with interest. "Nothing wrong with that," he replied, sounding a touch defensive.

Draco knew Potter didn't use magic often anymore, and while that was probably another hurdle in his healing, it wasn't a discussion to have right at that moment. "Have you thought about getting a pet for yourself?" he asked instead with a nod at Lucy.

Potter turned to him, lips twitching into a tiny smirk. "I already have a cat."

Draco rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. "You hate that cat."

Potter laughed, breath misting in the cold afternoon air. "I dunno, I think I've grown rather fond of that bothersome cat."

"Lies." Draco smiled into the warm collar of his coat, once again reminding himself to not get carried away by Potter's offhand remarks. "Here's the pub."

Potter stopped next to him and looked up at the green and black painted façade. "The Little Green Dragon Ale House?" he read aloud before turning to Draco with a grin.

"Purely coincidental, I assure you," Draco said before Potter could comment. "Do you want to wait here? I'll only be a moment."

"Not on your life Malfoy." Potter stooped down to securely tie Lucy to the front fence post.

"Because you want to see my Muggles?"

Potter straightened, still grinning. "Yup."

Draco sighed and led the way to the front door of the small pub, somehow knowing this was not going to go well for him. The locals teased him enough without bringing Potter into the picture.

He opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit pub, which always smelt a bit on the musty side, but it was warm and inviting so Draco was able to overlook the stale odour. It was the only pub in the village so everyone congregated there of an evening; the population small enough that they could all fit comfortably around the little round tables.

He looked around for Gerald, Lucy's owner, while Potter stood next to him and gazed around with interest.

Draco quickly spotted the older man at the bar next to Frank, the pair of them hunched over their pint glasses and most likely grumbling about their arthritis because of the rain.

He weaved his way through the tables, most of which were already occupied, and walked up to Gerald, Potter silently trailing after him.

"Good afternoon Gerald," he greeted, nodding at Frank as well when the two of them looked up.

"Why Mister Malfoy," Gerald greeted with a smile, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "What brings you here today? Fresh out of gold-plated truffles up at the castle?"

Draco rolled his eyes while Frank guffawed and Potter emitted a snort of amusement next to him.

"No, I'm afraid your dog was loose again," Draco replied, ignoring them. "Harry tied her up outside for you," he added, motioning to Potter.

"Harry is it?" Gerald repeated, holding out his weathered hand to him. "Nice to meet you. You his new footman?"

Potter laughed as he shook his hand. "No, I'm afraid not, just a friend."

"He's rather posh, this one," Frank interjected, motioning to Draco with his half-empty pint.

"I know," Potter replied, glancing at Draco and failing to hide his amusement.

"He's a good sort though," Gerald added with authority, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "Why don't the two of you join us for a pint?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," Draco answered regretfully, not actually sorry as he was sure the evening would merely consist of the three of them mocking Draco until closing. "We have dinner plans."

"Draco, do you have a date?"

Draco glanced behind him to see Magda beaming up at him from a nearby table. “No Magda," he replied with a roll of his eyes, though he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice.

Magda was one of the first people he’d met after moving to the area and she was still his favourite. She was genuinely kind and looked after everyone in the village, and somehow managed it all without coming across as nosy or interfering. She was in her early fifties and had smooth olive skin and very black hair without a hint of grey. She said her good spirits kept her youthful.

"Harry is an old mate from school," he explained.

"Ah, nice to meet you Harry." Magda stood and stepped forward to shake Harry's hand. "Magda Harris."

"Harry Potter," Potter replied, returning her amiable smile.

Draco watched the interaction, hardly able to believe that this was the same man that sat out on the street day after day with a blank emotionless stare. Potter was presently so cheerful and full of life, some of that old magnetism and unknowing charm radiating off of him; the same charm that had always drawn complete strangers in. These people didn't know the  _famous_ Harry Potter, but they were interested in him just the same because of his natural appeal. A natural appeal that Draco was certain Potter had no idea he possessed.

Draco admired him for it, but it was also infuriating because Draco had always been somewhat reserved around new people and had not the talent to make friends as easily as Potter did.

"What are your dinner plans?" Magda asked with interest.

"I think Draco cooked."

Magda's face instantly lit up. "You are in for a real treat then Harry; I taught Draco everything he knows about cooking!"

Draco could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment. "Yes, five whole dishes," he replied disparagingly.

Potter laughed but he also looked impressed as he glanced in Draco's direction.

"Yes, but the ability to cook five meals to perfection is worth more than the ability to cook a hundred different dishes which only taste all right," Magda replied firmly. "Which one did you pick for tonight?"

"Steak and kidney pie."

"My favourite," Potter immediately interjected.

Magda smiled, looking very pleased with herself for no reason that Draco could see.

"And we should be returning for it before it burns to a crisp," Draco said, hoping to make his escape from all this unwanted attention and scrutiny. "Just in case Gerald forgets, please remind him that Lucy is tied up outside," Draco added to Magda, knowing she was a softy for animals and would ensure that Lucy was not indeed forgotten.

Magda patted him on the arm. "No worries Draco, I might just take her home with me tonight," she said with a wink.

Draco smiled and nodded in approval. "Thank-you Magda, goodnight."

"Goodnight Draco," she replied warmly. "It was a pleasure to meet you Harry Potter. I hope we'll see more of you around here."

Potter smiled and nodded. "Yes, it was lovely to meet you as well."

Draco decided it would be best to leave without saying goodbye to Gerald and Frank, knowing those two old codgers they would be stuck there for another hour if acknowledged. They were both lovely people but hardly left room to draw breath if given half the chance.

They headed back outside into the rain and Potter patted Lucy the black Labrador on the top of the head as they passed her at the gate. She grinned her doggy smile up at him and wagged her tail.

"You seem to have made quite the impression on these people Malfoy," Potter commented as they began the long walk back up the hill.

Draco slipped his hands into his coat pockets with a shrug. "They may be a tad eccentric but they're a friendly group," he replied protectively. "Most of them don't have any living family left so they're very social."

He could feel Potter's eyes on him. "I like them," he said sincerely. "Much better than London, everyone sort of keeps to themselves there."

"Isn't that why you moved there?" Draco asked pointedly, slanting a glance at him.

Potter nodded, exhaling into the cold air. "Yeah."

They remained silent for the rest of the walk back up to Draco's cottage. Draco opened the front door and it was a welcome change from the dreary outside. He'd left a fire burning in the hearth and the oven warming, so the cottage was the perfect temperature and smelled of hot meat pies.

They both shed their coats and Potter followed him into the kitchen.

It was a bit of a surreal moment and Draco quickly busied himself with fetching the pie out of the oven and dishing it up in order to not think about the fact that Harry Potter was sitting at his kitchen table, about to eat a meal that Draco had prepared for him. As friends.

Because what else could you call them now? They certainly weren't mortal enemies, or any other such juvenile nonsense, and Harry had introduced himself as Draco's friend at the pub, and Draco had done the same with Magda; calling Harry an old school mate.

It felt like they'd finally come full circle or something. Something that Draco couldn't quite put a name to yet, he only knew that it felt good. It felt right.

"Here you are," Draco said, setting a plate down in front of Potter with a large piece of steaming steak and kidney pie on it. "Please don't believe Magda, I really do only know how to cook five dishes – and certainly not as well as she tells everyone. Which you are about to discover."

Potter chuckled as Draco took the seat opposite him. "It smells really good, and _I_ can't cook anything, so I'll be impressed no matter what. I mean, I can _make_ things but no one would be impressed by them."

Draco smirked as he picked up his fork. "Things like jam on toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Exactly," Potter grinned before sliding a forkful of pie into his mouth.

Draco quickly tucked in, nervously wondering if it tasted all right. He hadn't had the chance to test it at all.

"Oh wow, this is delicious," Potter exclaimed, mouth full.

Draco tried to not be offended by how surprised he sounded. "Thank-you."

Potter swallowed and poked at the golden-coloured crust. "Did you make the pastry yourself?"

Draco frowned. "How else would you make it?"

Potter glanced up with a smile. "Never mind, Magda would not be pleased if I told you."

Draco arched a brow, completely baffled. He decided it was probably a Muggle thing and returned to eating his pie, Potter doing the same, and they both fell into a comfortable silence as they finished the meal.


	13. Chapter 13

“Did you bake those?”

Draco glanced down at the plate of Hobnobs as he set them on the coffee table  next to Potter’s cup of tea. “I bought  them at Tesco.”

Potter laughed as he grabbed one and sat back on the sofa with his tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other. “It’s so strange to hear you say Muggle phrases like that.”

Draco sat in his  favourite squashy armchair next to the fire, resting his tea on one knee.  “Yes, I could see how that would be somewhat… disconcerting,” he had to concede with a smirk.

“So, have you slipped up at all?” Potter asked after taking a sip of his milky tea.  

“Not to my knowledge,” Draco replied reflectively. “Fortunately everyone here is a little unconventional themselves so they don’t bat an eye at anything peculiar.”

Potter  smiled as he  dipped his Hobnob into his tea and Draco was once again struck by how  bloody  _normal_ the man was acting. 

Or perhaps that was the problem: Potter was merely  acting.

Potter glanced up and his smile faded as he caught Draco’s expression. He  slowly  set his tea down on the table with a sigh, looking resigned.  “Are you about to psychoanalyse me now?” he asked.

“I don’t know what that means,” Draco promptly replied before taking a sip of his tea.

Potter exhaled as he flopped back against the sofa and wrapped his  arms  around himself.“You know, act like my therapist and try to determine what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Draco arched a brow; Potter’s tone had turned stiff and distant, like the Potter who sat out on the street scowling at the world. “We know what the issue is,  and it’s not something that’s  _wrong_ with you, it’s called grieving.”

Potter snorted and he had a horrible  sort of  self-loathing look in his eyes that Draco couldn’t stand. 

“Yes but I’m not handling it like a _normal_ person. ”

“I suspect that’s because  _normally_ people don’t lose their entire family  all at once,” Draco replied bluntly. 

Potter swallowed and looked away, gazing instead into the flickering fire to Draco’s left.  “It’s been seven months…”

Draco frowned.  “Your point?”

Green eyes flicked  back  to his. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“Long enough for what?”

Potter shrugged.  “To be this… this unhappy for.”

Draco knew that adjective was a massive understatement.

“I’m not going to pretend that I’m an expert on grief or grieving,” Draco began slowly. “But I do know that you’ll never succeed if you’re trying to be the same person you were before it happened. You can move on and you can be a new version of yourself, and eventually that wretched pain isn’t quite as relentless, but… it will never be the same as it was before. _You_ will never be the same.”

Potter chewed his bottom lip as he nodded, gaze sliding back to the crackling fire. “I know, it’s just…I can’t imagine being _any_ fucking version of myself without them.”

Draco swallowed as Harry’s voice cracked with emotion. 

It was impossible to think of him as anything other than Harry when the Gryffindor was being this vulnerable. 

“It’s like… It’s like I can’t be _me_ without them,” he continued, staring unblinking into the fire. “I was nothing before them, before Hogwarts and magic, and now… I don’t know how to go back to that life. It’s just…empty and meaningless, and…“ He paused and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I just feel really lost. I know this sadness that’s just so fucking overwhelming most of the time will eventually lessen, but then what? I just can’t see a future that is even _half_ as appealing as it was going to be before they died.”

Draco nodded, beginning to truly understand the absolute magnitude that this one event has had on Harry’s life. 

“Because now you have to start at the beginning again?”

“The beginning?” Harry questioned, glancing up.

Draco nodded, gathering his thoughts  as he set his tea down on the table and sat back. “They were your friends, your  surrogate  family,  and there’s no way you could ever replicate that with complete strangers because… how could you? Not only were you eleven, when making a best friend was so bloody  simple, but you also went through a war together. How could that bond  ever be duplicated?”

Harry stared at him and Draco shifted, uncomfortable under  the  unexpected intensity.

“Yes, exactly,” Harry replied, still staring.

Draco picked up his  cup again for something to do. “You seem like you’re in better spirits today,” he commented before taking a sip.

Harry blinked out of his apparent stupor and idly plucked another biscuit from the plate. 

“I am, I suppose.” He glanced up with a tiny grin. “I must admit nothing holds my interest these days except for you Draco.”

Draco felt his cheeks flush \- both at the sentiment and at the use of his given name - and he quickly took another sip of his tea.

“I was so curious about your Muggle village and your house, and how you were living in general,” Harry continued, oblivious. “It’s fascinating, and  quite  a brilliant distraction really.”

Draco quickly recovered his composure, unable to stop the smile that pulled at his  lips.  “But you grew up with Muggles, how is this fascinating for you?”

Harry chuckled. “Because it’s  _you_ and Muggles. Draco Malfoy - Pureblood extraordinaire - living amongst the Muggles and shopping at Tesco and baking pies.”

Draco laughed. “Well it sounds ludicrous when you say it like  that.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with mirth as he laughed along with him. “I’m impressed though,” he said, smiling. “I never would have thought that you’d end up like this. Are you… are you happy here?”

“For the most part,” Draco replied vaguely. “I’m certainly in no hurry to move again, I’m rather settled here. With my Muggles.”

Harry grinned and finished off his tea. “And your potions business is here too, right?”

Draco nodded. “Yes,  some potions are rather  fussy and require regular attention so it’s much more  convenient to operate  out of my home rather than a rented workshop somewhere in town.”

“How do you manage to keep your hair from getting  all  greasy like Snape’s though?”

“Because I wash it,” Draco replied dryly. 

Harry snickered. “Can I see it?”

“My hair?”

“No , your potions lab,” Harry replied with a snort.

Draco arched a brow. “Yes, if you’d like. It’s  certainly not very interesting,” he warned.

“Everything you do is interesting, remember?” Harry reminded with a teasing grin.

Draco  rolled his eyes but  stood and set his cup down in order to lead Harry to his lab down the hall.

He opened the door and walked inside, quickly scanning the room to ensure that everything was in order.  This was his sanctuary, his personal space, and it felt very odd to invite someone else into it. 

He’d only ever  invited one other man  to this house, and they’d never  stepped foot in the potions lab. That relationship had been kept strictly to the bedroom, which was  why it eventually failed so spectacularly.

“It doesn’t smell.”

Draco returned to the present and narrowed  his  eyes as he turned to Harry. “Of course not,” he scoffed, insulted.

Harry  flashed that lop-sided smile that Draco was becoming rather too fond of. 

“I just thought it would smell of chemicals or something,” he explained. “It has a distinct smell but it’s quite nice, it smells like… er…”

Draco frowned, bewildered,  as Harry turned away, cheeks pink. 

“It’s most likely a combination of bergamot, lavender, and cedar at the moment,” Draco said when Harry didn’t  offer any further explanation for his odd behaviour.

Harry cleared his throat and wandered over to the work bench to look downinto the bubbling cauldron. “What’s this?”

Draco walked over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him as they both peered down into the  viscous brown mixture. “It’s just an  experiment. I believe this is trial number four.”

“What sort of potion is it?”

“My own version of Polyjuice; exact same  efficacy but I’m attempting to  reduce the preparation time exponentially.”

“Really? Can you do that?” Harry glanced up and Draco suddenly realised how close  together  they were standing. 

“Not yet,” he replied, trying to sound as natural as possible with Harry’s warm breath brushing across his cheek. “I’m hopeful though,” he added quietly, not really sure what he was talking about anymore as he stared into vivid green eyes.

The sound of Harry’s in-drawn breath meant that he wasn’t entirely certain anymore either as he stared back at him. 

The room suddenly felt very small and very silent, the air thick with an expectant tension.

Draco unconsciously licked his lips and watched as Harry’s gaze darkened then flicked down to glance at Draco’s mouth before darting back up again.

“Harry…” Draco breathed, unable to help himself. His chest was coiled so tight with sudden desire and want that he couldn’t even think straight.

Harry  blinked and abruptly took a step back, instantly breaking the mounting tension.

Harry turned away and ran a shaky hand through his hair as he exhaled roughly. “Fuck, I…” He glanced back and the other’s man’s expression caused Draco’s stomach to plummet in disappointment. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Of course.” Draco shook himself and took a step back in the opposite direction. “I’m sorry, that was very insensitive of me.”

Harry shook his head, expression apologetic. “No it wasn’t, you were hardly throwing yourself at me Malfoy.”

Draco tried not to be stung by the name.

“I just…” Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around himself as though suddenly cold. “I  just  don’t think my heart  can take it. That probably sounds ridiculous but I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation-”

Draco tried to interrupt him to tell him that  an explanation really wasn’t necessary, as he felt awkward enough about the whole situation, but Harry quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s not that I’m not attracted to you,” Harry insisted, looking slightly wretched, which helped to soothe Draco’s humiliation somewhat. “But I feel a bit… bruised, like my heart is too sore to heap any more emotion onto it. Not for a while anyway.”

Draco swallowed and nodded in understanding.  Of course Potter wasn’t ready for a relationship, or even a casual fling, he’d only just recently begun to drag himself out of  a deep depression and this certainly wasn’t an appropriate time to add further complication.

“Of course,” he assured, feeling utterly embarrassed about  how obvious he’d made his feelings on the matter. “I’m trying to help you and that was entirely inappropriate.”

Incredibly, Harry laughed. “You know you’re not my actual therapist, right Draco? This wasn’t against any sort of oath  or moral code,  and you can’t be sacked.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile a little. “It does somehow feel  very immoral though,” he  replied uncertainly.

“Not to me,” Harry assured  him  firmly. He   turned and walked over to sit in  Draco’s desk chair with a heavy sigh. “Look, I ended my last relationship because  I couldn’t deal with not being able to give him what he wanted anymore, and I don’t just mean sex;I couldn't be the same person anymore.  It’s just  as you said:  you change and you can’t go back. It was too stressful to pretend to not be as messed up as I was, and I didn’t have the energy or the will to try.” He paused and then quietly added, “I also ended it because I was scared.”

“Scared?” Draco repeated incredulously, leaning against his work bench and watching Harry.

“Yeah, I was scared of love.” He laughed humourlessly. “It sounds so cliché, but I just thought that if I distanced myself and didn’t care for anyone that deeply again, that…”

“That you wouldn’t be hurt again?”

Harry looked up and nodded. “It’s stupid, because what’s the point of living if you’re avoiding all the best parts just to protect yourself against the bad? My plan was to just live in a bubble and not interact with the world, to not make that kind of connection with anyone again, but you’ve helped me realise that I don’t actually want that anymore.” 

Harry  stood and  walked back over, and it took everything Draco had to  not take a step back;  Harry wasn’t the only one who wanted to shield himself from being hurt.

“I think,” Harry continued slowly, gaze both apologetic and earnest all at once. “When I  _am_ ready, I will want to try that  almost-kiss again.”

Draco swallowed, still feeling wary. He was fairly certain  that  his feelings for Potter outweighed whatever minor interest the Gryffindor held for him, but he’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to be with him - even if it was only for a little while. 

“You don’t want to re-establish your relationship with that  Quidditch player?” he asked  carefully.

Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t. He was fun and made me laugh,  but…”

“But?” Draco repeated softly , tone guarded.

“But he wasn’t interesting or blunt as fuck or sarcastic or... or slyly thoughtful the way you are.”

Draco cursed the fact that his stomach  gave a joyful swoop at Harry’s words. 

“Don’t forget devastatingly handsome,” he  added flippantly.

Harry snorted,  serious expression easing a little. “Well yeah, that’s a given.”

Draco smiled and really wanted to kiss that bloody fool again. He clenched his hands into fists and  shifted backwards. “I suppose you’re all right too Potter.”

Harry laughed as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I know I’m far too skinny  right now,  but if you keep feeding me your delicious steak and kidney pies, I’ll fatten up quick enough.”

Draco  couldn’t help but smile at Harry’s  charming  self-consciousness, and despite the fact that Harry had just turned him  down, he still felt a tiny flicker of hope for the future. 

He suspected that  a potential relationship with  Harry would definitely be worth the wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Draco asked, turning away from the old Black family home to glance at Harry.

The Gryffindor was standing on the footpath next to him, head tilted back and teeth mangling his bottom lip as he stared up at Number Twelve Grimmauld  Place with a frown.

"No," he replied shortly, and then proceeded to stride up the short walk to the front door.

Draco silently followed him. He felt like he was intruding on something private, something that only very close loved ones should be sharing with Harry, but sadly Harry didn't really have anyone that fit that description anymore.

As Harry opened the door, it struck Draco just how much loss of life the man had suffered during his relatively short existence. They'd all experienced death during the war but Harry continually lost people close to him, not just faceless fellow students or Death Eaters like in Draco's case, but actual friends and family.

Witnessing the slaughter of people Draco hadn't known was bad enough; he couldn't begin to fathom how Harry had made it through the war with his sanity intact. He supposed that's why the recent murder of what was essentially the last of Harry's remaining support group had felt like the final straw to the man; Harry had finally decided to turn his back on fate and just give up - and who could blame him?

The more he got to know Harry, the more he began to understand what he hadn't at the beginning of all this: that Harry wasn't weak or self-centred for giving in to despair, he was just tired of being constantly trodden on and he simply couldn't find the will to get back up again this time.

"What's that face for?"

Draco blinked and realised that Harry was standing in the open doorway, staring at him with concern.

He smiled a little and shook his head as he stepped into the dim hallway. "It's nothing," he said as he closed the door behind him. Then he decided that he _should_ say what was on his mind; Harry should probably hear how well Draco thought he was doing. "Actually, I was just marvelling at how resilient you are," he amended stiffly, feeling awkward but pressing on nevertheless.

Harry's gobsmacked expression made him think that he should probably learn to compliment others more often.

"How the fuck did you come to that conclusion?" Harry replied, still appearing stunned.

"You're here, aren't you?" he replied self-consciously, motioning to the decrepit old house around them.

A tiny smile of amusement twitched Harry's lips as he surveyed him with what Draco would swear was discernible affection.

"You're odd, do you know that?" Harry finally replied, giving in to that threatening smile.

"My mother called it singularly unique," Draco sniffed, feigning offence.

Harry's smile grew into a grin before he turned away and looked around the entrance foyer. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For distracting me at just the right moment."

Draco smiled at the back of Harry's dark head. "Any time Potter."

Harry glanced back over his shoulder to meet Draco's gaze and behind the soft smile was a load of sincerity that made Draco look away again, cheeks heating.

"I think I'll tackle the bedroom today," Harry said with a sigh, eyes drifting to the staircase.

Draco nodded and followed Harry up the stairs to the second floor.

When Harry had informed Draco that he wanted to return to Grimmauld Place to start the process of bringing some of his personal belongings over to his London flat, Draco had not been expecting an invitation to accompany him. He'd instantly agreed though, knowing that this was so much more than a simple excursion to move some boxes; this was Harry acknowledging that he needed to not completely block out his former life, and this included the physical mementos of his past.

Harry wasn't ready to move back into his old house - and maybe he never would be - but this was definitely a step in the right direction. Draco knew it wouldn't be easy and he was rather touched that Harry had asked him to come along, it gave Draco hope that perhaps Harry felt more than just simple attraction for him.

Draco followed Harry in through one of the doors in the upstairs corridor, assuming that this was Harry's former bedroom. The entire house had a dusty sort of neglected smell to it that made Draco's nose wrinkle and itch.

Harry stood in the centre of the room and looked around, exhaling in a very measured sort of way which made Draco wish that he could see his face.

"I guess I'll start with my Hogwarts trunk," he stated, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself that that would be an easy, straight-forward task.

Draco instantly withdrew his wand and levitated Harry's heavy trunk from where it was peeking out from underneath the bed. He guided it to land with a gentle bump at Harry's feet.

Harry stared down at it without moving.

Draco winced as he took in the Gryffindor emblems and red and gold flags pasted to the outside of the trunk. There was no way Harry would be able to think of his old house without it prompting memories of Weasley and Granger.

Draco quietly perched on the edge of the unmade bed, wand still in hand. "My father burned all of my school things before he was sent to Azkaban," he said into the silence.

Harry tore his gaze away from the battered trunk at his feet to look up. "Everything?" he asked in surprise.

Draco nodded. "Everything but a photo album that Pansy managed to hide under her robes for me," he replied, smiling a little at the memory; she was such a bold little Slytherin when she wanted to be.

"Your father was a real wanker, you know that right?"

Draco snorted and nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at him a moment then turned back to his trunk. He took a deep breath and eventually knelt down to carefully pry open the dusty lid.

Draco crossed the room to quietly sit next to him when Harry emitted a pained sort of noise, but outwardly Harry's expression didn't change at all.

Draco looked down into the jumbled mess of objects within the trunk; the most prominent being a moving photograph of the Golden Trio resting on top.

Draco inwardly cursed his inability to comfort people in times such as these; he never knew what to do, or what the person wanted or needed. He was always afraid of doing the wrong thing, so instead he always did nothing. He knew what his impulses were _telling_ him to do but he didn't know if he had the courage to carry it out…

It turned out Harry more than made up for his lack of bravery as a cool hand suddenly slipped into his and held tight.

Draco squeezed back and hoped it was enough.

Harry released his hand and reached into the trunk to slowly withdraw the framed photograph.

Draco peered at it over his shoulder, suspecting that the photograph was taken some time during second year. The three looked so very young; it was amazing to think of what they all went through that year.

"Second year?" Draco asked quietly, gazing at the photograph and watching the three of them hug and laugh while looking at the camera and nearly falling over in their exuberance. Harry's clothes were far too big for him and it made him appear even smaller than he was.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he answered roughly.

Harry continued to stare down at the photograph, fingers clenching and unclenching around the wooden frame. Draco felt as though he were intruding on something private again, so instead of staring at Harry while the Gryffindor tried to rein in his emotions, he switched his gaze to the remaining contents of the trunk.

He spotted some old Quidditch gear, schoolbooks, Harry's Gryffindor scarf, a fuzzy winter hat, a broken quill, and what looked like scraps of old parchment. Draco smiled sadly; the sight, and even the smell of it, reminded him so strongly of that time in his life that it made his heart ache.

He didn't wish to be young again merely to correct the mistakes of his past, he also desperately wanted to feel that sense of youthful innocence again. Before Voldemort's return, he had been so carefree and confident, and trusting of his parents and the people around him. Now he knew that he would never again experience that childlike way of looking at the world, and the thought always saddened him a great deal.

Although learning to not blindly trust others was a valuable life lesson, a part of him still mourned that the rest of his existence would be so tainted by the dreadful experiences of his childhood.

Draco glanced over as Harry suddenly reached out to slowly shut the lid of the trunk, blocking the contents from view.

"You know what?" Harry said after swallowing several times. "I think that's enough for today." He turned to look at Draco; green eyes darkly troubled yet dry. "Is that all right?"

"Of course."

Harry nodded vaguely before standing and turning away from the trunk.

Draco silently followed him back out of the room and down the stairs. He looked around at the obvious neglect and absently wondered where the grumpy old house-elf was who used to serve the Black home.

The two of them walked out the front door and returned to the footpath where they both stopped; Harry facing out into the street and Draco looking back at the towering residence behind them. He had some vague memories of the home from his childhood but nothing that really stood out in great detail.

Harry took a few deep breaths of the fresh, cool air and slowly let them out, and Draco suddenly noticed that Harry had managed to bring the photograph with him. He turned back to the house so that Harry wouldn't catch him staring; he was sure the other man wouldn't want to talk about it.

"It might get easier now that you've done it once," Draco offered tentatively, absently watching a Muggle in the house next door sitting next to an open window with a cigarette in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Is that how it was with you?"

Draco turned to him. "You mean returning to the Manor? I wouldn't know," he replied at Harry's nod. "I haven't been back since my mother died."

Draco was surprised to see something like a challenge suddenly gleaming in Harry's eyes; like when they used to provoke each other as children.

"That must mean it's your turn Malfoy," he said.

Draco blinked. "You mean… right now?"

Harry nodded and hugged the photograph to his chest as a smirk slowly developed on his face.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "I… I'd really rather not," he hedged.

Harry raised his brow and Draco inwardly cursed himself - and the stupid Gryffindor - for being able to goad him into doing things he really didn't want to do.

Draco sighed wearily. "All right Potter, if you're capable of facing your ghosts then I suppose I am too."

Harry actually smiled, pleased, and Draco suspected this was merely another distraction for the man.

As they began their journey to Wiltshire, Draco wondered just how long these distractions ought to go on for before Harry should be forced to confront his grief head-on.


	15. Chapter 15

Every fibre of Draco's being was telling him to freeze as he approached the towering gates of Malfoy Manor, but he set his jaw and strode through without hesitation. He was loathed to admit - even to himself - that a very small and very ugly part of him was still unwilling to show weakness in front of Harry Potter.

He glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye, wondering what the other man was thinking as he walked next to him up the long winding drive. As absurd as it seemed, he was worried that Harry would suddenly remember that Draco and his family had played a rather integral part in holding him and his friends captive here; torturing them on these very grounds, and then Harry would suddenly decide that he couldn't continue any sort of friendly association with Draco anymore.

"It really is a beautiful property."

Draco raised his brow in surprise as he turned to him. "You mean without the murdering psychotic hanging about?"

Harry smiled ruefully, hands shoved in his coat pockets. "Yes, that did put a damper on things."

Draco smiled a little as he turned to look at the impeccably kept gardens and vast stretches of perfectly trimmed lawns. "Beautiful but… lacking warmth," he admitted. "As much as I loved my mother, she made decorating decisions based entirely on what would appear the most opulent or what would impress guests the most."

He paused just before the wide circular steps leading up to the front doors.

"She did have this one small sitting room attached to her bedroom though," he murmured, unearthing a memory which he'd nearly forgotten. "It was painted a lovely pale pink and everything in it was soft and bright, and there was more colour in that one small room from her collection of painted teacups and velvety accent pillows than in the entire rest of the house put together..."

He stopped talking, embarrassed by his reminiscent rambling, which was probably of no interest to Potter whatsoever.

Draco chanced a glance towards the other man but Harry didn't look as though he were uninterested; he was gazing back at him as though thoroughly absorbed by every detail.

"It's kind of sad that she didn't feel as though she could be herself in the rest of the house," Harry commented quietly, somehow managing to feel empathy for a Death Eater's wife and causing Draco's chest to tighten with longing for the man standing in front of him.

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded his head. "Yes, one of the many things she ended up regretting. In the end," he disclosed sadly.

"Is that why your cottage is so…"

"Unapologetically un-Malfoy?" Draco supplied, firmly pushing aside thoughts of his mother and the heart-breaking things she said during her last days with him.

Harry smiled. "Yes, exactly."

Draco shrugged, once more looking around the familiar grounds, feeling rather detached from it all after all this time. "I think I still would've made the same choices after the war, but I don't believe I would've felt as determined to make decisions based on what made me happy rather than perhaps what was the most logical or the most responsible."

Harry suddenly grinned. "Like trying to help dreadfully hopeless causes such as myself?"

Merlin, that teasing grin of Potter's was going to be the death of him. Draco merely smirked and began to walk up the steps in order to avoid grabbing Harry and kissing him right there and then.

He could hear Harry jogging up the steps behind him as he withdrew his wand and opened the doors.

Inside was cold and dark, even in the middle of the day. Draco had left the remaining house-elves in charge of keeping the house and gardens clean and tidy, but they certainly weren't lighting any fires to keep the entire Manor warm anymore; probably just the kitchens and their own living quarters. He was embarrassed to admit that he had no idea _where_ the house-elves actually slept. He probably should've told them to sleep in any bedroom they liked, even though he knew they never would've agreed to that; they would have found that suggestion much too disrespectful.

Harry stepped in next to him, looking around at the shining marble flooring and tall stone pedestals holding overly large and overly expensive vases.

"It's like a museum," Harry remarked in a whisper. "Was there much damage after the war?"

"Some," Draco replied, quickly shaking off images of scorch marks and bloodstains. "Shall we?"

Ever since he'd mentioned his mother's sitting room, he'd decided that that was to be his destination. He'd left it exactly as it'd been when his mother had passed, and perhaps it was time for him to take some of her more prized possessions to his own home, as Harry was doing.

Harry silently trailed after him as he walked up the staircase to the second level and then on down the long corridor to the master suite.

He faltered for only a second before pushing open the bedroom doors; remembering that the last time he’d opened them he'd found his mother cold and unmoving in her bed.

He strode through the silent room without a glance towards the large empty bed to his right.

His mother's sitting room was located at the far end of the bedroom and was just as he remembered it. Beams of muted winter sunshine were streaming in through the windows, causing the rows of colourful teacups to sparkle in the light. Even the temperature was warmer due to all the glass windows; making the room feel more welcoming and certainly more cheery than the rest of the empty Manor.

"I can see why she liked it," Harry murmured from behind him.

Draco had nearly forgotten he wasn't alone. He nodded in agreement as he looked around, taking it all in and allowing himself to remember the good times before the war. He used to ask his mother to read to him in this room when he was just a boy, clearly already feeling an affinity for the only cosy space in the house.

"I thought I might take some things back with me," Draco mentioned casually, as though it was of no consequence.

Harry sat in one of the armchairs, placing the framed photograph he'd taken from Grimmauld Place face-down on the cushion beside him, and watched Draco with a knowing gaze. He didn't say anything but Draco knew Harry wasn't fooled by his nonchalance.

It struck Draco then just how very odd it was to see Harry Potter in his mother's private sitting room.

He turned away to look around at all of his mother's little treasures, trying to decide on what he may wish to take with him.

"Do you think you'll ever live here again?" Harry asked curiously.

Draco picked up a pale blue teacup with gold trim, trying to remember if this was her favourite or whether it was the green one with the pink flowers.

"Definitely not," he replied firmly as he compared the two cups with a thoughtful frown.

"What are you going to do with it then?"

"I don't know." Draco decided to just take both cups and set them down on the little round table next to Harry. "I hadn't really thought about it. I don't want to sell it though."

"What about donating the use of it?"

"Perhaps." Draco picked up one of his mother's glossy society magazines and put it down again before turning to Harry. "To who though? And for what purpose?"

"A university? Or a hospital?"

Draco smirked at Harry's wide-eyed optimism. "And are _you_ running this grand new venture Potter?"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I might do. _Or_ ," he added enthusiastically, "it could be some sort of posh hotel! Like one of those expensive retreats that wealthy Muggles go to for yoga and vegan food."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. It was good to see Harry so animated about something.

"That idea may have merit Potter," he replied contemplatively. "Not just for the wealthy though, something that's accessible to everyone."

"Feeling altruistic Master Malfoy?" Harry teased with a grin.

Draco smirked. "This Manor has accommodated enough pretentious wankers over the years, it doesn't need any more."

Harry laughed and Draco would have been offended by his agreement of that statement, except that he couldn't bring himself to care when Potter looked like that.

Draco knew his smirk was about to turn into something a little too obviously fond, so he turned away and went about selecting a few more things from the room: a book his mother used to read at least once a year because it was her favourite, a small round ornamental photograph of himself with his mother when he was just a baby, and two more patterned teacups. He shrunk all of the items down and conjured a small padded box to carefully place them in for travel.

Once he was finished, he looked around the lovely sitting room one last time, picturing his mother in better days: lounging on the soft sofa in her dress robes and eating delicate French pastries while reading a book or just gazing out the window with a soft smile while Draco prattled on about school or Quidditch.

He smiled at the memory and then turned to lead Harry back out into the main corridor before his prickling eyes could spill over and embarrass him.

Harry seemed to understand and left him to his thoughts as they walked the long corridor together. Draco could see him looking around with interest at the many doors and family portraits.

No other rooms held any interest for Draco, even his own bedroom was stripped right down to the bare essentials without a touch of his teenage self lingering about the space anymore. It certainly didn't spark many happy memories; it merely reminded him of when he used to hide away and hope that the Dark Lord and his followers would forget that he existed.

Perhaps Harry had a point about donating it for some other purpose; replace its dark past with something more worthwhile. It would be a better use for it rather than sitting empty. The house-elves would be pleased, if nothing else.

They headed back outside to the gravel drive, quickly making their way towards the black gates accompanied by a cold winter wind that seemed to come up out of nowhere.

Draco used his wand to close the gates with an ominous clang before deftly setting the wards back in place.

He held his little box of trinkets in his arms and turned to Harry, who was hugging his framed photograph to his chest, and suddenly Draco felt very reluctant to go their separate ways.

"Do you think you'll do something with it?" Harry asked before Draco could speak, tilting his head to indicate the Manor.

Draco glanced through the wrought-iron bars towards the tall imposing home. "Yes, I believe I shall; it deserves a bit of cheeriness."

Harry smiled, burying his chin in his woollen coat collar for warmth. "So do you."

Draco arched a brow and tried not to look too discomfited by that remark as he turned back to him. "I know what would make me cheerful," he replied boldly, holding Harry's gaze.

Harry's eyes widened ever-so-slightly and he coughed, clearly caught off-guard.

Draco smiled; fortunately he was a patient man.

“A hot cup of tea," he clarified. "Would you like to join me?"

Harry's gaze flicked back to him, searching, before he eventually settled on a smile and nodded. "Yeah, all right."

The two wizards journeyed the short distance to Draco's village and settled around one of the small round tables in the local café, discarding their winter coats as the warm little shop surrounded them and chased the chill from their skin.

This was the only shop in the village in which to order a nice cuppa and a sandwich from. Its name was no longer legible on the sign outside (it looked like it used to say something like ‘Sophie's Tea & Cakes’), but everyone just referred to it now as 'the tea shop.'

All of the shop's furniture, the artwork, and the crockery were dreadfully mismatched, there was a fluffy cat which sat on the counter and always made Draco question the hygienic state of his food, and the owner (who was Claire and not Sophie) was a pleasant, hardworking woman in her early forties. She was a retired air traffic controller from London who had grown weary of her stressful career and city life, and had suddenly decided to move out to the country for a fresh start about three years ago.

She wasn't the best cook but she made a decent cup of tea and brilliant caramel shortbread.

Claire eyed Harry with interest as she set down their tea and sandwiches, along with two slices of the famous shortbread.

Draco rolled his eyes at her as she gave him the thumbs up behind Harry's back.

Fortunately Potter didn't notice.

Draco took a grateful sip of his Earl Grey and watched in surprise as Harry placed the Gryffindor photograph face-up on the table before wrapping his hands around his warm cup with a sigh.

Draco sensed that Harry's mood had turned somewhat solemn, so he waited for the other man to speak first.

Harry's gaze was glued to the moving photograph in front of him when he finally broke the silence.

"There's one more thing I need to do… and I was hoping you’d come with me."

Draco set down his tea and sat back, watching Harry closely. Whatever this 'thing' was, Harry was clearly averse to doing it.

“What is it?" he finally asked.

Harry exhaled and reached out to flip the photograph back over again.

"I need to visit Hannah Abbott."

Draco frowned in thought; he recognised the name but couldn't work out why…

Oh. Of course, she was the only remaining survivor of the attack. The last he'd heard of her she'd been in St. Mungo's with critical injuries.

"How is she doing?" Draco asked quietly before taking another sip of his tea.

Harry sat back, clutching his cup in both hands. "I… don't know, to be honest. I know she's out of hospital, but…"

Draco inhaled sharply through his nose. "You haven't talked to her since it happened, have you?"

Harry shook his head and quickly took a sip of tea.

Draco observed him in silence for a moment. He wondered what Hannah's emotional state was like; she'd lost her fiancé in that attack after all. Her shiny new life had been about to begin and then it was suddenly snatched away in the space of one night.

What if she was more dangerously despondent than Potter? He really didn't want her dragging Harry back down into the depths of despair again after all his efforts, but… if it was something Harry felt he _had_ to do, then Draco knew there was no telling the stubborn prat not to.

"Of course I'll come with you," he finally answered, knowing there was never a chance of him _not_ doing whatever Harry asked of him.

Harry looked up and there was immense relief in his green eyes, the tense hold on his teacup relaxed a fraction.

"Now, you have to try this shortbread Potter," Draco continued briskly, pushing the plate across the table to him. "It will blow your fucking mind."

Harry let out a startled laugh that sounded a little like a sob, but he smiled as he reached for the shortbread.

"Thank you."


	16. Chapter 16

The Abbotts were a Pureblood family whose lineage rivalled the Malfoys; the only difference being that they'd chosen _not_ to follow the Dark Lord into battle. They now resided in a comfortably large home in the midst of a wealthy wizarding village in southern Scotland.

When Mr. Abbott's pleasant expression turned into a frown upon seeing Draco next to Harry on his doorstep, Draco suddenly realised a few rather important facts all at once: Mr. Abbott's wife had been murdered by Death Eaters during the war, his almost-son-in-law had been killed in an attack by a group which Draco was rumoured to have started, and his only daughter had nearly died during the very same incident.

"This is a good friend of mine," Harry introduced blithely. "Draco Malfoy."

"Good afternoon," Draco greeted courteously, forcing himself not to shift uncomfortably under the man's mistrustful gaze.

What he really wanted to say was that he hadn't been the one to murder Mr. Abbott's wife, and he certainly hadn't been involved with the Pureblood Society, but he held his tongue, knowing no good would come of it, and that following his parent's foolish decisions meant that he would pay the price during interactions such as these for the rest of his life.

Mr. Abbott hesitated only a moment before giving a short nod in greeting, then he stepped back to let them into the large entrance foyer.

"She's in the sitting room," he said as he closed the door behind them, indicating the archway on their left which seemed to lead to a short corridor along the front of the house.

"How is she?" Harry asked with a quick glance towards the empty corridor.

Mr. Abbott sighed as he gave a noncommittal shrug. "She's as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. It was good of you to come Harry," he added with a slight smile. "Visitors are dwindling in numbers and I expect she's a bit bored most of the time with only her old dad for company."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Harry replied apologetically.

"Nonsense," Mr. Abbott said with a shake of his head. "I know you had a lot to deal with." He lifted a hand to give Harry's shoulder a squeeze before stepping back. "You should go in, she's eager to see you."

Mr. Abbott's gaze flicked to Draco briefly before he turned and left them to it.

Harry glanced at Draco, looking slightly concerned, which helped to ease some of the embarrassment.

"You didn't warn them I was coming, did you?" Draco asked with narrowed eyes; slightly irritated that he was discomfited by Mr. Abbott's treatment of him in the first place, usually he was merely annoyed when people automatically treated him like shite. He was only embarrassed due to Potter's presence.

Instead of shrugging it off or laughing, Harry's expression actually darkened at his words. "I shouldn't have to warn people like I'm bringing Voldemort himself as my guest."

Merlin, he loved Harry's fiercely protective side.

"As delightful as your indignation is on my behalf Potter, the reality of it is that you do actually have to inform people when you're bringing additional guests to their home. Especially…" Draco paused to clear his throat. "Especially when they're a Malfoy," he finished judiciously.

Harry huffed and looked as though he wanted to say more, but he eventually closed his mouth and turned to walk through the open doorway towards the front sitting room; clearly deciding that now was not the time to enter into that particular discussion.

Draco smiled at his retreating back and silently followed him towards the other room.

He entered the pretty, high-ceilinged sitting room behind Harry and immediately noticed the weather charm making the room appear as though it were drenched in sunshine when in fact it was terribly windy and rainy beyond the windows. It was a charm Mind Healers employed for mental health reasons and Draco was quite familiar with the technique as his mother's Mind Healer had prescribed the same thing following the death of his father. He had employed it again during his mother's failing health to help raise her spirits a little.

Draco turned away from the bright windows, his gaze drawn to the figure positioned on the large sofa by the fire.

Hannah Abbott was smiling at Harry in greeting, her blonde hair swept back off her face in a thick plait which hung off the arm of the deep blue sofa at her back. She was dressed in a pretty cream-coloured nightgown and, despite the thick blanket covering her lower half, the missing limb was startlingly obvious.

Draco forced his gaze away from the space where her right leg should've been and focussed on her face as she set down the book she'd evidently been reading before their arrival.

"Hi Harry," she said, sounding sincerely pleased to see him. Her blue eyes widened slightly when they landed on Draco. "Draco Malfoy, this is a surprise."

"Hello," he replied apprehensively, feeling very much out of place.

"I hope you don't mind that I brought Draco," Harry interjected.

"Not at all," Hannah replied, gaze curious as it flicked between the two of them. "I didn't realise the two of you were friends."

"We are now," Harry answered with an amused glance at Draco.

Draco couldn't help but smirk back, holding his gaze. He only hoped Hannah couldn't detect his acute fondness for Harry from across the room.

Her raised brows caused Draco to think otherwise.

"Why don't you have a seat?" she said, indicating the two cream and gold chairs across from her.

They both strode forward and settled into the comfortable armchairs. Now that they were closer, Draco could see the dark shadows beneath Hannah's eyes and the thinness through her once round cheeks.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit."

Harry's voice interrupted Draco's silent musing and he turned towards him as Harry leaned forwards, arms braced on his knees, expression earnest.

Hannah's answering smile was tinged with sadness, fingers absently twisting the leather bookmark hanging from the pages of the novel in her lap.

"Don't be daft Harry," she replied in her quiet way. "I know how much they all meant to you. Besides, you were out arresting the people responsible, which was _much_ more important than visiting me. I wasn't ready to talk about it for a long time, I'm still not to be honest, but my Mind Healer says that I should," she added with a shrug.

Harry exhaled and ran an absent hand through his rain-dampened hair as he sat back in his seat.

Draco watched Harry's expression carefully; it was amazing what the past few weeks had done for his ability to read the other man's thoughts. Harry's emotions weren't as obvious as everyone thought they were, and Draco had learnt that behind the seemingly cross façade and stiff stoicism was a person who cared so bloody much that everything affected him in a deeply personal way. Like right now for instance, Draco could clearly see the guilt and shame and the sickening regret which tightened those intense green eyes.

"Yes, I was so busy arresting criminals and doing my job that I had no time left over for the people who survived that night. The people who _really_ needed me," Harry responded acrimoniously. "I barely remember their fucking funerals because I was just so furious and wanted to catch the people responsible; as if that would somehow make me feel better."

"Perhaps it was a good thing that you had something else to channel all that emotion into," Hannah pointed out after a beat. "I would've given anything to have had something else to focus on, to distract me from the truth."

Draco shifted his gaze to Hannah and watched as she roughly brushed aside a tear from her cheek.

"And think of all the lives you saved by arresting them.”

"But not the lives that mattered," Harry snapped resentfully.

"I know you don't mean that," Hannah said softly. "You care about everyone Harry Potter."

Harry sat back in his seat, anger visibly receding a little. "But if I had only worked that hard in the beginning - as soon as they'd exposed themselves to the Ministry - I would've found them _before_ they attacked The Burrow that night. Or if my job hadn't been so fucking important and I hadn't left early-"

"You'd be dead," Hannah interrupted firmly. "You weren't there - and that's not something you should ever feel guilty about Harry - but I _was_  and there wasn't any time to react. There was nothing you could have done to stop it,” she said, voice growing steadily stronger and more insistent. “There was no warning, no sudden appearance of witches and wizards in black robes brandishing wands and making evil speeches. It all happened in a matter of seconds-" she stopped and shook her head, another tear making its way down her cheek as she relayed the nightmarish memory. "I had just run into the house to fetch some more plates, and I looked up through the kitchen window to where everyone was gathered around the tables under the lights and my gaze connected with Neville's - just for a moment - and he smiled at me… And that was it. There was an odd whistling sound, like nothing I'd ever heard before, and then nothing; everything went black. The next thing I remember is waking up in St. Mungo's."

Draco glanced at Harry to see how he was taking it and noted the tortured expression and glassy eyes.

Draco tucked his hands under his legs and had to forcibly stop himself from going over there and wrapping his arms around him. It was only Hannah's presence which prevented the action.

Which was probably a good thing, as he had never initiated any sort of physical contact with Harry before and an unwelcome hug might have been pushing things.

He suddenly felt as though he was being watched and turned to see Hannah looking straight at him.

He wasn't sure if she was judging his intentions towards Harry or if she was wondering if he really _had_ been involved with the Pureblood Society.

She finally turned back to Harry, plucking a fresh tissue from her pocket as she did so to dab at red-rimmed eyes. "Are you seeing someone Harry?" she asked.

Harry blinked and Draco detected the tiny abortive movement when Harry nearly turned to look at him.

"A Mind Healer, I mean," Hannah elaborated before blowing her nose.

"Oh, ah… no, I'm not," Harry replied, shifting in his chair. "Not really."

"Not really?" Hannah repeated with a puzzled frown. "What does that mean?"

This time he _did_ glance at Draco.

“Draco's been helping me. Quite a bit actually.”

"As a Healer?"

The corner of Harry's lips quirked up into a tiny smile and Draco was relieved to see that his eyes had lost the glassy sheen of tears. "Yeah, he's surprisingly good at it.”

"Hmm…" Hannah turned to Draco, considering. "I didn't realise you were trained in mental health Malfoy."

"I'm not," Draco replied unabashedly, crossing his legs and brushing some imaginary lint from his trousers. "I merely offered my friendship.”

Draco was relieved to see Hannah smile; hopefully that meant she didn't put any stock in the rumour that he was the evil monster who had started the Pureblood Society.

"I'm glad he has someone."

"As am I," Draco agreed, holding her gaze.

Her smile widened and Draco thought he detected approval in her eyes.

Or perhaps that was merely wishful thinking.

"How is your recovery coming along?" Draco asked with a nod towards her missing leg, hoping he wasn't touching upon a forbidden subject but wanting to change topics before he admitted to something that he knew Harry wasn't ready to hear.

Hannah sighed and turned a fierce glare at her missing limb. "Not well. Do you also happen to work miracles with physical therapy Malfoy?"

"Not to my knowledge," Draco replied with a smirk, feeling a little more comfortable now, "but I could try. Nothing could possibly be as challenging as attempting to help Potter."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed indignantly.

Hannah giggled and the mood in the room lifted significantly then.

She went on to talk about her rehabilitation and how she would eventually be fitted with a magical prosthetic limb which would move just like a real leg, but she would unfortunately not be able to physically _feel_ it.

The limb was also going to be quite taxing on her, especially in the beginning when she was just learning how to use it, because it would require her to expend constant magical energy in order to force the prosthesis into motion and to continually tell it which direction to move and when to take a step so that she'd have a relatively smooth gait in relation to her real leg.

"I'm looking forward to it though," she added hurriedly after having a whinge about how much work it was all going to be. "At least I'll be able to get myself around again, and hopefully get a job." She paused and pulled the blanket up a bit to cover her bare arms. "What will _you_ do Harry? Return to the Aurors?"

Harry immediately shook his head. "No, I'm done with the Aurors." He shrugged and then glanced at Draco. "I might run Draco's posh hotel."

"Hotel?"

Draco rolled his eyes while Harry nodded, grinning.

"Yeah, he's turning Malfoy Manor into a posh but affordable holiday retreat."

"For vegans," Draco reminded him.

Harry snorted and nodded. "Yes for vegans and yoga enthusiasts."

Draco smiled at Harry's amusement and Hannah looked as though she thought the pair of them were crazy.

They stayed for a while longer, drinking tea and eating the sandwiches the house-elves prepared for them. They did a lot of reminiscing about Hogwarts, silently agreeing to ignore when Hannah's voice would wobble if Neville was mentioned, or when Harry would suddenly stand and walk over to the window for a minute.

Draco didn't offer much to the conversation but he was happy enough to just sit back and listen, learning about things and incidents that he'd never even been aware of, and Harry seemed to find comfort in his presence; darting little glances his way when something was particularly funny or upsetting.

Draco was confident by now that Harry felt something for him that went beyond mere physical attraction. There was definitely something between them that was growing and evolving, and he couldn't wait for the day when Harry was ready to explore it.

"I think we should let you get some rest," Harry suddenly said when Hannah covered a wide yawn with one hand.

Hannah looked disappointed but nodded in reluctant agreement. "I hope you'll come back…?" she said questioningly as they stood to leave. "Both of you," she added with a smile at Draco.

"We promise," Harry replied firmly. "And you can be our first guest at Draco's hotel. Free of charge."

Hannah chuckled. "I would like that."

"And your father as well," Draco offered. Then he had another thought. "I know you have an interest in cooking, so perhaps you could give us some pointers on that aspect of the business as well?"

Hannah's eyes instantly lit up. "That would be brilliant! Thank you."

"Of course." Draco nodded, pleased to have offered her something to look forward to besides her gruelling physical therapy.

"See what I mean about him being a clever Mind Healer?" Harry said with a grin.

Then he suddenly walked over to Hannah and gave her unexpectedly fierce hug. "It was good to see you Hannah."

Hannah seemed startled at first but then quickly squeezed him hard in return, looking slightly overcome as the two lone survivors of that tragic night embraced.

"Thank you," she whispered when Harry pulled back. She reached out to clasp his hand, holding him in place for a moment as she stared up at him intently. "If there's one thing I've learned from all this Harry, it's that you should never take anything for granted, especially love."

Draco couldn't see Harry's face but he saw him squeeze her hand once in return before stepping back.

Draco nodded in farewell before silently following Harry out the door and down the corridor.

They passed Mr. Abbott in the foyer where he was just coming out of an adjoining room. He said goodbye to Harry and shot Draco another suspicious look before disappearing down the hall; most likely checking on his daughter after their lengthy visit.

Draco stepped outside and was relieved to see that the rain had turned into a fine mist and that the wind had died off nearly altogether. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his warm coat and followed Harry down the front steps to the footpath.

They strolled along, shoulder to shoulder, admiring the autumn colours and the wonderful smell of damp earth after a heavy rainfall.

"Are you really going to open that hotel?" Harry asked, sounding oddly subdued.

Draco glanced at him. Harry was staring at the wet pavement as it passed beneath his feet, frowning in thought.

Draco looked straight ahead again, his eye catching on a small tabby cat sat atop a nearby fence. He smiled at it.

"Yes, I believe I will," he finally replied, sounding equal parts amazed and amused by his own admission. "Besides, I _have_ to follow through, I promised Ms. Abbott."

"What about your potions business?"

Draco shrugged. "I’ll keep that as well I suppose. Perhaps I'll supply potions for the hotel. My potions business was never greatly successful," he admitted. "Not locally, at least; too many people are aware that they’re prepared by a Malfoy."

Harry stopped abruptly. “Draco...”

Draco slowed to a stop, the look on Harry's face causing him to fall silent.

"Hannah's right," Harry said, sounding nervous but determined. "You never know what's going to happen in life, and you should _never_ take things for granted… Or wait to have something in the future when you could have it now."

Draco stared at him, not wanting to interrupt, but fervently hoping that this was going where he thought it was.

Harry exhaled and ran an anxious hand through his hair. "I know I said I wanted to wait, to wait until I was healthy and normal - but what the fuck does that even mean? If I waited until I was no longer sad over losing Ron and Hermione then it would _never_ happen; I would be waiting forever…"

Draco's breath caught in his throat. That was the first time Harry had spoken their names since this all began.

Draco swallowed thickly, feeling like he was balancing on the edge of something very fragile.

"Waiting for what?" he asked quietly, needing to hear Harry say it.

Harry's green eyes tracked over his face, searching, confirming something that Draco wasn't privy to.

"I love you," he said on a breath. "I love you and I don't want to wait until everything is perfect because there's no such thing as perfect and I don't want to waste any more fucking time."

Draco laughed, breathless and shaky and incredulous. "Harry…"

There was so much he wanted to say in that moment; primarily that he loved Harry too, but he was so stunned by Harry's unexpected confession that words were utterly failing him.

Harry looked slightly stunned as well, but the corner of his mouth suddenly lifted into a self-conscious smile and Draco couldn't remain motionless a second longer.

He took the two steps back to Harry and kissed him, hands clutching hard onto Harry's shoulders.

Harry emitted a muffled sound that sounded like relief as he kissed him back, arms winding around Draco's waist and pulling him close.

Harry's lips were soft and warm and Draco nearly sighed into his mouth as they moved together. This was so much better than any of his wanking fantasies; which had only involved Harry for quite some time now.

They kissed a while longer before Draco finally pulled back, too breathless and unsteady to continue. He leant his forehead against Harry's and closed his eyes.

"I love you too," Draco murmured.

Harry smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth before enfolding him into his arms and burying his face into the side of Draco's neck.

"I think we can help each other," Harry said quietly, warm lips moving against Draco's neck and causing his skin to tingle. "You've already helped me so much and I want to help society get its head out of its arse and see you for the man that you are and _not_ your father or the scared boy that you were. I _never_ want to see anyone look at you the way Mr. Abbott did again, or see anyone treat you the way those men in the pub did."

Draco's first instinct was to bristle and feel insulted, he could bloody-well look after himself after all, but it quickly faded.

Harry loved him and wanted to protect him and make him happy.

It was everything that he was already trying to do for Harry - how could he possibly disagree?

Draco smiled and placed a softly reverent kiss to Harry's thick hair, relishing the fact that he could do that any time he pleased now.

"It's a deal Potter."

* * *

 


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains shameless smut. You have been warned ;)

_**6 months later…** _

"You know we _do_ actually have to leave the bedroom at some point today Potter."

Harry raised his head from where he was slowly kissing his way up the inside of Draco's thigh. "Does that mean you want me to stop?" he asked innocently.

Draco narrowed his eyes and impatiently bumped his hips up into the air. "Of course I don't want you to bloody stop, but perhaps if you could just hurry this along-"

Draco choked off as Harry suddenly licked a firm stripe up the side of his flushed erection and then coaxed the leaking tip into his mouth with his tongue.

Draco moaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow as he involuntarily thrust up into Harry's warm mouth.

"Fuck… Harry…" Draco gasped and bunched the bed sheets in his hands as Harry slowly took him all the way into his mouth and then slowly dragged back up again before suckling around the sensitive head.

Harry continued to slurp around Draco's straining cock as though it was the most delicious ice lolly, before finally pulling off and crawling up his body to give his earlobe a gentle nip.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Harry whispered into his ear. "Or if you're in a hurry, I'm still loose from earlier…"

Draco groaned, keeping his eyes closed as he involuntarily thrust against Harry's hip, carefully considering the merits of both options.

One thing he'd quickly discovered about Harry after they'd made their relationship official was that he was incredibly insatiable. Even when his lover's emotions were in tatters on a particularly difficult day, Harry would still come to Draco's bed; ready and willing. Sometimes on those days it was a fierce, almost angry love-making which was all sweat-soaked skin and urgent hands, and other times it was slow and wonderfully tender. Regardless of how it started though, it always ended with the secure embrace of languid limbs and Harry's mental state much improved.

If Draco secretly enjoyed the perks of an emotionally charged boyfriend, he certainly wasn't about to put a stop to it.

"I… I want you to ride me," Draco finally managed to reply breathlessly.

Harry smiled and gave his earlobe another nip before sitting up, thighs straddling Draco's waist as he reached for the jar of lube on the bedside cabinet.

Draco ran his hands up Harry's strong thighs while he watched him dip his fingers into the clear substance and then reach around to apply it to his already relaxed rim.

Harry's body had filled out remarkably over the past few months; a combination of Draco's cooking and a watchful eye on his boyfriend's diet had done wonders for the Gryffindor. Slowly but surely Harry had regained a normal appetite, and actually began to enjoy food on a regular basis again. He'd moved into Draco's little cottage at the start of January and Magda had been giving the two of them weekly cooking lessons ever since. Most of the lesson was spent laughing and drinking copious amounts of wine, but they were still learning at least a few practical things from each session.

Christmas had been incredibly hard on Harry and getting through it hadn't been easy on either of them, but they'd managed to make it through relatively unscathed, and Draco had asked Harry to move in with him shortly thereafter because he'd known they could get through anything after that.

Harry had instantly agreed. He'd sold his flat in London and happily made the move to Westbury. Now they were deep into obtaining the proper permits and approvals for the Malfoy Manor hotel - which still did not have an official name as the two couldn't seem to reach an agreement on anything.

Draco couldn't believe the life he had now compared to only twelve months ago. Adding Harry to his rather dull existence had been like adding colour to a black and white photograph; it seeped into nearly every aspect of his daily routine and made it that much more vibrant and satisfying.

Harry still had moments of terrible melancholy, as well as absolute fear that something was going to happen to Draco. During those times Harry would draw into himself or fall silent for hours due to his natural reaction to distance himself from potential sorrow now, but Draco would gently coax him out of his despair by patiently reassuring him that he was here for him and that he wasn't going anywhere.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as Harry wrapped one hand around Draco's cock and then slowly sank down onto him in one smooth motion.

Harry's head was tipped back and his eyes were closed as Draco gradually filled him from below.

Draco loved watching Harry's face when they were in bed together; he was so expressive in his pleasure that sometimes all it would take was one swift glance at Harry's expression and that would tip him over the edge.

Once he was fully seated and stretched wide, Harry let out a low moan that caused Draco to flex up into him in response.

They both enjoyed either position, but Harry had a preference for bottoming that Draco was only too happy to indulge.

Draco curled his fingers around Harry's hips and thrust upwards with a little more vigour, desperate for Harry to start moving.

Harry opened his eyes and looked down at him; black hair bed-mussed and wild, and green eyes dark with desire.

"If you don't move soon Potter…" Draco bit out warningly when Harry remained motionless.

Harry smirked. "You'll what?"

Draco suddenly snaked his arms around Harry's lower back and sat up, the abrupt change in angle causing Harry to inadvertently moan out loud.

"I'll flip you over and fuck you into this mattress while your arse is still tender from our morning shag.”

Harry's eyes fell closed and he squeezed around Draco's cock. "I can take it…" he gasped out cheekily, rocking his hips once.

And then again.

Draco licked his lips and slid his arm more fully around Harry's lower back in order to lift him up and then carefully tip him over backwards onto the bed. Harry's legs automatically locked around his ribcage and Draco braced his forearms on the mattress on either side of Harry's head.

Draco pressed his lips together in satisfaction as he began to thrust long and deep inside of him, Harry's lube-slickened channel gripping him perfectly on every inward push and then slow drag back out. Harry's body rocked into the bed on every thrust until Harry finally reached up and braced his hands on the upholstered headboard above him.

Draco deliberately pulled nearly all the way out, until just the engorged head of his cock bumped up against Harry's sensitive rim, causing both of them to shudder at the sensation. Then he firmly thrust back in until his hips fit snugly against Harry's arse cheeks.

"I thought you… uhh… were in a hurry," Harry gasped, eyes squeezing shut as Draco continued the tortuously slow assault on his prostate. "Ungh… god that feels so good…"

Draco smirked in satisfaction and then suddenly drove in deep and hard, pushing Harry up into the pillows. He stilled for just a second, trying get control over his body as his cock throbbed deep inside of Harry, threatening to finish before he was ready.

He drew in a shaky breath and then began to thrust his hips in earnest, pumping in and out more forcefully.

Harry reached down with one hand and began to pull on his flushed cock with quick snaps of the wrist, making the most wonderful sounds as his body tensed and his back arched in pleasure.

Draco clenched his jaw as he stared down at him. "Fuck, I'm close…" he panted, thrusts quickly growing erratic.

Harry opened his eyes, hand still flying over his leaking erection. "Do it," he urged breathlessly, staring up at him with clouded unblinking eyes. "I want to watch you come."

Draco pushed up onto his hands with a low moan, blond fringe sticking to his damp forehead as his head dropped forward and he began to fuck into him roughly.

Harry's noises quickly grew unrelenting, signalling his impending orgasm, and Draco grit his teeth and held off until Harry suddenly cried out and clenched around him, cock spurting liberally between his fingers and up onto his chest.

Draco grunted as he continued to thrust into him, watching raptly as Harry came undone beneath him. He drove in once more, hard, before suddenly stiffening and coming with a long moan, cock pulsing in Harry's tight arse as he filled him.

He collapsed forward onto his elbows, damp forehead pressed to Harry's shoulder as he attempted to regain his breath.

Harry's body practically melted beneath him as he came down from his high, arms slowly wrapping around Draco's sticky back as he pressed a lazy kiss to his temple.

Draco smiled against Harry's warm skin before carefully rolling off of him, collapsing onto his back with a sigh and giving his body a chance to cool down.

Harry turned his head to look at him, a worn-out smile on his flushed face. "That was a good one."

Draco snorted as he turned to face him. "You're welcome."

Harry chuckled and half-heartedly elbowed him in the side; too weak to put much force behind it.

Draco smirked and then reluctantly sat up. "Come on Potter," he said with a sigh, nudging his naked lump of a boyfriend. "Now that you've wasted all this time in bed, we are officially late for Magda's birthday."

"Wasted?" Harry repeated with raised brows.

Draco eyed Harry's exposed body with appreciation. "Perhaps _wasted_ is not the correct term," he conceded with a lascivious smile.

He stood and made his way to the shower, listening to Harry utter a cleaning spell behind him with satisfaction. Harry had been quite averse to using magic, having nearly given it up completely before they started their relationship, and Draco was slowly encouraging him to use it more and more often.

Living in a Muggle village was definitely allowing Harry to indulge in his avoidance of spell work, but Draco wanted to ensure that Harry wouldn't be too out of practice to be able to defend himself if he ever needed to again.

Twenty minutes later, they were both clean and presentable. They slipped into their coats, plucked Magda's gift from the table, and then walked out into the early spring sunshine together.

The entire village was now aware of their relationship, and they had happily welcomed Harry into their little group with open arms, but miraculously, their association was somehow still a secret in the wizarding world. It wasn't often they ventured into Diagon Alley together, but Harry was adamant that Draco be seen with him – if only platonically at first – so that they could slowly alter the public's perception of the last remaining Malfoy. Harry thought it best that they get used to him as Harry Potter's _friend_ before The Prophet burdened him with the title of Harry Potter's 'Love Interest.'

But here in Westbury, they could be as nauseatingly affectionate out in the open as they wanted to be; and they often were.

"What about 'The Wiltshire Sanctuary'?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like it's for wild animals."

Harry snorted.

"I like the idea of using Wiltshire in the title though," Draco mused thoughtfully.

"The Wiltshire Retreat? Wiltshire Manor?"

"Manor has too many negative connotations," Draco immediately replied, shaking his head. "At least for me."

Harry slipped his hand into Draco's as they strolled into the village and walked towards the pub. "We have time," he said calmly, eyes lighting up when he spotted the black dog at the pub's gate.

Lucy's tail began to wag rather energetically as Harry approached and knelt down to scratch under both floppy-soft ears.

"Hullo Lucy," Harry uttered with a smile. "Is your dad inside getting pissed again? You can come home with us tonight."

"No she can not," Draco interjected derisively. As much as he loved seeing Harry all gooey-eyed over the lovable dog, he definitely didn't want the large Labrador in his home.

 _Their_ home, he reminded himself. The thought always warmed his heart and he was in unquestionable danger of becoming rather too sentimental in this relationship.

Bloody Gryffindors.

Harry straightened and grinned at the look on Draco's face. "What if she promises to be good?"

"When are _you_ going to promise to be good?" Draco murmured as he walked with Harry to the front door of the pub, which was currently propped open with a large pair of black wellies filled with pink gerberas.

Draco paused at the door, glancing inside at the celebrations which were clearly already in full swing; Magda was one of the village's most beloved residents after all.

"Do you _want_ me to be good?"

Draco glanced at Harry's playful expression and shoved the bottle of wine with the big red bow on it into Harry's arms.

"You're incorrigible," he drawled, rolling his eyes but unable to stop the fond smile from stretching his lips.

"I have no idea what that means," Harry called out carelessly as he turned and strode into the pub, sending a grin over his shoulder at Draco before disappearing into the crowded room.

Draco smiled to himself as he heard what sounded like half the pub greet Harry by name.

He glanced back at Lucy who cocked her head to one side and wagged her tail hopefully.

"You're still not coming over tonight," he said resolutely before turning and walking into the pub.


End file.
